Blossoms of the Court: Droit de Seigneur
by seraph7
Summary: Sansa Stark and her bold sister Arya arrive at the decadent court of Charles II, she's plunged into a dangerous world especially when the monarch's roving eye alights on her- and his ruthless mistresses, Barbara Palmer, and Cersei Lannister move to ruin her. Can Willas Tyrell, Earl of Highgarden convince her to be his bride? Part 1 of Blossoms of the Court
1. Chapter 1

May 1666, London

The Stark's carriage pulled in to the outskirts of town on a Friday morning. It had been a long journey from the quiet tranquillity of Winterfell and the North, and the girls had the sense they were entering a different, yet exciting world.

"I don't want to look too provincial!" fretted Sansa, as her hands fidgeted with her fan. "This is so important to us all. We simply must make a good impression at Court and in town."

Arya curled her lip, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. _Trust her sister to worry about stupid things like that. Who cared if they were provincial? What else would they be? _

They'd rarely left their father's remote northern territories, let alone entered such a huge cosmopolitan city as London, teeming with people and life. Although they'd joined their oldest brother Robb on his journey south, in order to gain knowledge of the outside world and to gain husbands, this was very new to all of them. Why did she care so much what other people thought of them anyway?

Though she secretly liked her sister, the way that Sansa always sought to be perfect rankled with her.

Even worse was the fact that everyone always compared them, and found her wanting. If she had a shilling for every time Septa Mordane or her mother said something along the lines of, 'Why can't you behave more like your sister? Why must you hare across the county in your breeches like a hoyden? See how demure and feminine your sister is. Why can't you be more like her?'...well, she'd be rich as Croesus and not need to marry!

* * *

The London townhouse had been in the Tully family for years, and had come to their mother, Catelyn, as an inheritance. As soon as they arrived, Sansa and Jeyne commandeered the main bedroom, which had a wonderful view of Hyde Park and the surrounding areas. The elder girls couldn't help peeking excitedly out of the windows, taking in the sights and sounds of their new home. There was a great deal of construction going on after the return of the king and his court a couple of years ago, and the old dank buildings of the capital were giving way to newer more spacious houses and avenues built in clean, classical lines and light stone.

"It's just like the city's being reborn, a phoenix from the flames!" gushed Jeyne.

"And we're going to be a part of it." Sansa echoed, her lovely blue eyes shining with excitement. The two girls smiled at each other, sharing their excitement and joy at their new adventure.

Sansa and Jeyne were excitedly discussing the fashions in the capital, and contemplating their change in image. If they were to fit in here in this urbane and glittering capital, they needed to shed their rustic skins and attain a courtly polish… as soon as possible.

"I can't wait to go shopping. Just think of the wardrobe we'll need before we get to court!" Sansa beamed in excitement. The girls looked excitedly at each other at the thought.

"Isn't it tomorrow we have that appointment at Madam Marianne's?" Jeyne asked.

"We were certainly lucky to get in at such short notice," Sansa said. "I suppose we have Lady Arryn to thank for that." Neither she nor Arya had ever met her mother's younger sister, but they had been told a great deal about her by Lady Catelyn, who had wanted them to be prepared for their adventure in the big city.

Septa Mordane had fretted that they would not be able to get outfitted in sufficient time for Court, but the Stark name and fortune spoke for itself, and cleared the way most satisfactorily. They had managed to get an afternoon appointment with one of the best modistes in town.

Sansa and Jeyne had spent many an evening poring over the pamphlets that made their way north, collecting the fashionable models that displayed the latest fashions a la mode. Arya couldn't think of anything duller frankly, listening to her sister and her handmaiden chat excitedly about their trip to the modiste tomorrow. She hoped that she would be left behind while they primped and preened but there wasn't a chance of that.

_What a fuss! It was so unnecessary, _she thought. _Why could we not have stayed at home to find husbands? If we really have to?_

Even as she thought it, she knew she was being a little unreasonable. It was their duty as high-born maidens to marry well and raise families, to marry a wealthy man and make alliances to benefit their family. The best way to do that was to move south where they were bound to meet the lords most suitable for their station.

_Why do things have to change and why is Sansa so eager to leave our childhood behind?_

* * *

_It was a shame that Arya did not feel the same way,_ Sansa reflected the next day as they rode to the modiste. Her sister was in a dreadful mood, and nothing she did seemed to be able to chivvy her from it. After a while, both Sansa and Jeyne gave up on it, talking between them.

Sansa looked at her sister who still had a miserable look on her face. I wish she would give this place a chance. This is a wonderful opportunity for us all.

We are so lucky that Mother managed to save enough that she could afford a season for both of us. She had even been able to finance for Jeyne Poole, her very best friend and handmaiden, to join them on the city adventure.

She knew that Arya was a tomboy and instead of enjoying the demure lady-like arts expected of a high-born maiden she preferred to run around with the lads, hunting, riding, practising her shooting and archery with Robb their brother and Theon who was their father's ward, and fencing.

Sometimes, Sansa was convinced that Arya actually thought she was a boy, rather than a maiden of high birth. Certainly she was rather more athletic and sporty than their younger brother Bran, who was a bit of a scholar and had gained early entrance to Oxford where he was studying Philosophy, and Divinity.

Frankly, she was surprised their handmaiden Jeyne managed to get her in a dress for longer than a few hours as she lived in breeches at home, to the horror of their governess Septa Mordane.

Even though the younger girl chafed under the restrictions of being a lady, Sansa understood that things couldn't stay the same.

Arya was still quite young, but it was more than time she started acting like a lady, and learnt to grow up. It was never too young to make those important high-born contacts, to meet the man who might yet become her husband.  
_Everything changes, why can't Arya accept that?_

* * *

The modiste exclaimed over the raw material she had to work with. What fair maidens had just made an appointment with her for all their trousseaus for Court and town - with money no object!

She watched them both as they made their selection of the fine fabric she would make their trousseaus with. She'd hovered to give guidance and steer the girls away from anything too gaudy and vulgar, but they seemed to have ingrained good taste despite their provincial antecedents.

The elder girl, Lady Sansa might have that scandalous shade of hair, flame gold and auburn, but her complexion and bone structure was exquisite. She looked like a porcelain doll, and had such a wonderful figure she barely needed the heavy busks and stays required by all fashionable girls of the town. She moved with a lithe, lovely grace that drew the eye to her immediately. No need for bold jade's tricks to catch a man's attention- she would manage that by herself. It was going to be a pleasure dressing her!

The younger girl, Lady Arya had a stormy scowl on her face, and she could not have looked more bored if she had been trying, but she had the promise of great beauty as well. Dainty features, a long face which once she's grown into her features a little would be striking, big dark grey eyes, and a pouty delectable mouth. She's perfect in every single way, a rose bud on the verge of blooming into a rare rose.

If they were going to court to seek husbands of wealth and elevated birth, they'd cause a sensation! And what better advertisement for her wares and custom than these wonderfully fresh Northern debutantes!

* * *

Time passed swiftly planning their wardrobes, and the Stark party was surprised when the doorbell tinkled and another party trooped into the store. It was three o' clock, and even Sansa and Jeyne's enthusiasm for high fashion was starting to wilt. Who knew that buying clothes could prove so exhausting?

Madame addressed the party of newcomers who were browsing avidly, chatting between themselves. "My lady Tyrell, you are a little early. I was not expecting you all until four of the clock."

The other girl gave a dazzling smile, welcoming and open. Sansa sighed inwardly in envy at her sleek, silky curls streaked with golden lights and her creamy complexion as delicately flushed as the petals of the first new buds of spring.

I bet she doesn't have to sit in front of the fire for hours having her hair frizzed and curled. How easily she wears the fashions of the day, as if they were created just for her!

"I know we are a little early Madame Marianne, but my Lady Leonette and Lady Margaery just wanted to browse a little before our appointment. We promise not to disturb you all." the gentleman with them said, putting an arm round one of the ladies and kissing her on the cheek.

She nudged him with an affectionate reproof and a smile on her face. "Garlan, we're in public!"

The other girl, who had been watching the Stark party avidly, strode over to introduce herself. Her eyes were a striking shade of hazel, like honey held up to sunlight, and they sparkled with friendliness. "Hullo, I'm Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden, and these are my brothers Willas and Garlan and my good-sister Leonette. We're so pleased to meet you!" she was shaking Sansa's hand enthusiastically before she knew it.

Sansa was slightly caught off guard by her friendliness and enthusiasm. "Sansa Stark of Winterfell. This is my younger sister Arya, also of House Stark." She gave Arya a budge to catch her attention, "And my dear friend from home, Jeyne Poole."

Jeyne bobbed a respectful curtsy back, utterly awed by the glamorous and gorgeous Tyrells.

She really wanted to make a good impression, especially, especially in front of these gleaming, impressive creatures.

"Are you trying to decide what you want? There's such a lot of choice. I don't blame you for not being able to choose." Margaery said to the girl kindly, assessing the situation.

Sansa gave her a rueful smile. "To be honest, I'm not sure what to select. We've recently come from home in the North and everything's so new. I don't know what the latest thing suitable for court and town is, and we really don't want to get it wrong. First impressions count for so much."

Margaery smiled at her reassuringly. Sansa couldn't help but feel relieved, as if the elder girl had taken her under her wing. "Would you like a second opinion?" Margaery offered. "I've been living in town for a while, and I can help you select the best things to help you all fit in at court."

It was like an answer to her prayers. Sansa lost no time in accepting her generous offer. "Oh yes please, that would be wonderful!"

Margaery settled down on the couch with Leonette in a flurry of dark green and gold patterned silk skirts, and devoted her attention to Sansa as she modelled the latest fashions from the modiste.

Sansa came out of the changing room in a day dress of violet silk, the deep lush colour of pansies. She tugged at the low scooped neckline, unused to showing quite so much flesh in public.

"Does it have to be quite so low?" She fretted. "Is there not a scarf or tucker I could wear with it?"

"Oh no, that neckline is all the rage at the moment," Madame Marianne assured her new client. "Shoulders bared, that elegant rounded décolletage just so, and the bosom pushed up."

Sansa couldn't help but worry that the display of her décolleté was rather immodest.

It wasn't so long ago since the days of Cromwell, and the dictates of the Protectorate, how the septons would fulminate against the wearing of bright ribbons and uncovered hair. Those heavy linen tuckers everyone was obliged to wear to preserve their modesty still lay at the bottom of Sansa's trunk. The drab dark colours, black, grey, brown and beige of their home-spun woollen dresses, the lack of lace or jewels allowed to be displayed. At heart the Starks may have been Royalist in sympathy, but after the war Ned and his family complied with the rules of the new society and lived modest lives.

Since the return of the king and his brilliant glamorous court, this was a bright new world, and for an obedient girl like Sansa, it took some getting used to.

"I just worry, Madame that I might have a wardrobe accident at court."

Madame Marianne sniffed. "No one ever falls out of my gowns, I assure you, madam. They are constructed with the very greatest of care."

Sansa hastened to keep the peace, aware that she might have offended the great modiste. Of course Madame Marianne knew her business! It wasn't for her, a mere maid from the country, to question her wisdom!

"Now let's see the Delft Blue dupion silk, dear. That should be most effective. Remember, shoulders back and chest out, my lady. You want to display yourself at your best advantage."

"Now that is a great colour! Definitely that one, don't you think Leonette?" her new friend said in a decisive tone

"Definitely! Your eye for colour is so keen, Margaery." Her relative said admiringly.

"That blue is wonderful, Miss Sansa, really it is. Take a look in the glass!" Jeyne told her mistress in awe-stricken tones.

"You're so lucky." Margaery said to Sansa with an encouraging beam. "I look a fright in those cool light colours, but that blue suits you so well."

"What shall I do about coiffures? I know everyone wears their hair in bunches of ringlets. Perhaps I should get it cut a bit more fashionably." Sansa asked looking enviously at Margaery's silky curls which fell in large, long, graceful spirals over her shoulders and down her back.

"Ah, but your hair is amazing! Margaery exclaimed. Isn't it beautiful! Look Willas, wouldn't it be a crime to cut it?"

Sansa blushed as she looked up and saw Willas for the first time. He was rather young and dashing, with soft light-brown curls streaked with gold like his sister, but cut into a masculine style, slightly falling into his eyes. Sansa had an urge to push that curl away from his forehead, and see his face properly. She was faintly pleased he wore his own hair and hadn't gone for those heavy periwigs, which seemed to be the vogue for men of fashion at the moment. His eyes were a shade or two greener than Margaery's liquid honey-gold, veering toward a clear hazel.

_I shouldn't want to touch a man I don't even know. It is most improper. I don't even know him! _If Septa Mordane could see inside her head right now, she would be shocked and horrified at what her star pupil was thinking. Yet the earth-brown velvet of his coat invited her touch, to stroke just once to see if it was as soft and plush as it looked.

"Your hair is beautiful. Please promise you'll ne'er cut it, my lady."

"Thank you." She blushed deeply, curtseying gracefully and presenting her hand for his attention. She felt a thrill of excitement and pleasure at the press of his lips wishing they would linger.

Willas looked at her as if she was the fairest maid he had ever seen. She had to admit if only to herself that it was very gratifying to have such a striking effect on such a good-looking man.

"I have the honour of being Lord Willas Tyrell, Earl of Highgarden. I wanted to thank you for befriending my sister."

"She's been so helpful and kind to me and my companions, really 'twas no trouble at all." She said shyly.

"So you and your sister are making your debuts at court?" He asked as Margaery and Leonette held court about which colours and styles would suit the Lady Arya considering her dark shiny hair, grey eyes and pale skin.

"Yes," she confided in him. "I must admit that I'm a little nervous."

He turned to her, his handsome face sympathetic and concerned by her admission. "Why? I have no doubt you will make a fine impression at court."

"We lived quiet lives back home. Except for our bannermen, we really didn't socialise with the great and good, and now we're going to court and rubbing shoulders with royalty."

"I can see that you fret." His voice was soothing, his fingers absent-mindedly stroking the inside of her wrist in a gesture of comfort. "But you'll find the king rather down to earth. He's not a man who forgets his struggles to be king in a hurry."

"You've met him?"

"Aye, I fought with him as a lad, at the Battle of Worcester." Willas told her.

She wondered whether that explained his knee which he seemed to suffer from.

"I think bold bright colours for my Lady Arya, red, greens and blues but I think she could also take a lilac or a pale grey, or silver - lovely cool colours, shades of winter." Margaery was saying confidently.

"What do you think, Arya?" Sansa dragged her attention away from Willas for a moment to join in the conversation.

"I don't mind this," Arya conceded, looking at a rich garnet velvet. "This might do for a riding habit or a coat."

"You must have some dresses as well, Arya!" Sansa nagged. "If all goes to plan we will have to attend many functions: balls, concerts, nights at the theatre and the like. We have-"

"I know! You don't have to nag!" Arya snapped, irritated by Sansa's fussing.

Margaery subtly smoothed over the disagreement, before it developed into an argument. "We've plenty of time to decide on things. It's barely half three yet. Come, let's not fret."

"So what do you plan to do at court?" Margaery asked Sansa.

"I'm going to court to seek a lady-in-waiting position," Sansa said with enthusiasm. "Mother wanted us both to have proper seasons as her and her sister did. We're going to be chaperoned by her and our governess, Septa Mordane. Our uncle is part of the council and well-connected at court."

"Who is he? My father might well know him." Margaery asked with curiosity.

"Lord Jon Arryn, lord of the Vale," Sansa told her, "Do you know him?"

Margaery and Leonette briefly exchanged a glance of interest, intrigued by how well-connected the girls were.

"You're lucky, girls. He's on the small council and very much in the king's good favour. It's all about 'who you know' at court." Leonette said with interest.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Well, it will certainly make your lives easier! There's a lot of competition for places at the court; Charles is known for his generosity, and people like to congregate near the seat of power. Lord Arryn may be just the foot in the door you girls require." Garlan told them. "I have the honour to be one of the King's Gentlemen of the Bedchamber, so I regularly attend court. Anything I can do to smooth your path..."

"That's so kind, Ser Garlan! Will we be meeting you all there too? It would be great to have some friendly faces there and you seem to know so much about the place, Lady Margaery?" Sansa asked her new friend. "Do you have a position there too, Lord Willas?"

"Margaery often spends time there, although she as yet doesn't- ah…" He seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if stopping himself from saying something indiscreet, but Sansa was so entranced by the husky mellow tone of his voice that she didn't seem to notice. "- she doesn't have an official position there."

Sansa was intrigued by this, but she said nothing. _Her new friend would tell her once she saw fit. It was certainly a bit of a mystery!_  
Leonette gave Willas a look over her fan as if to warn him not to say any more.

"I warrant there is much of the town you haven't had a chance to enjoy." He said, smoothly changing the subject.

"In truth we have only just arrived. We're still trying to settle into our townhouse." Sansa told him with a shy smile.

He turned to her with interest. "Where do you reside?"

"On Bloomsbury, the house on the corner." Sansa told them.

Willas looked pleased. "That's no so far from us really. We have our London pied-a-terre not far from here, on the other end of the street."

"What luck!" Sansa couldn't believe they were practically neighbours. She found herself envisaging intimate little picnics, suppers and musicales, gentle walks in the garden with Willas. She'd noticed he leaned on a cane and his knee seemed to trouble him. _Perhaps he wouldn't be one for dancing but I could play my lute for him?_

"I hope you will not feel it too bold if we were to invite you round for luncheon and maybe a trip into town?" Willas was asking her now.

Sansa beamed with pleasure, her eyes sparkling with joy. "That sounds marvellous, thank you so much!"

He met her eyes with another one of his gentle warm smiles that made Sansa's heart beat fast.  
"It was a pleasure to meet you all. I hope we shall the pleasure of your acquaintance for many more months to come. Good day, Lady Stark."

_Gods, I can't help myself, I really do like him._ Sansa thought, as he and his family said goodbye.

* * *

"A card Mademoiselle- from the Tyrells," Jeyne said as she presented it on a silver salver. "Shall I get the messenger to wait for a response?"  
Sansa was so thrilled to receive it that she almost ripped the card in half in her excitement.

**_Dear Lady Stark,_**

**_Such a pleasure to meet you and your delightful family at the modiste. I sincerely hope you will allow us the pleasure of getting to know you all better._**

_**Willas insists we must invite you all round for a small informal supper at ours. How about seven of the clock on Wednesday eve? You can't miss our pied de terre- it's the one with the green door and roses carved round it.**_

**_Can't wait to see you all again, and hoping we'll be the best of friends  
Margaery Rosalind Tyrell _**

She was unaccountably happy at the thought of Margaery's handsome older brother and having the chance to meet him again. What a fascinating and intriguing man! He had the soft brown curls streaked with gold, which must run in the Tyrell family. Such a kind, sunny smile Willas had, gentle and open.

"Are you going to meet them?" asked Jeyne, as she sorted their new purchases. She unpacked her ceramic large barrelled tongs, which were specially bought to recreate the loose ringlets so modish for ladies of fashion.

"Of course, they've been so friendly to us it would be rude not to return the gesture - and they are practically neighbours." Even as she spoke, she thought she sounded as if she was making excuses for herself. _I sound far too interested in Lord Willas Tyrell and I've barely even met him!_

Jeyne made a knowing little noise and busied herself with arranging their purchases

"What"? Sansa said to her handmaiden sharply, embarrassed that it was so obvious that she was interested in Willas._ I'm fooling no-one here, am I?_

"Well, he is a handsome man of good family. You could do a lot worse," Jeyne remarked with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

"I've only just arrived in London. I've not even been to Court yet!" Sansa protested, her cheeks growing warm.

"Well, he's a handsome man! I would stake my claim, before he gets snapped up by some London miss, my Lady. Those lovely hazel eyes…"

"Jeyne Poole! That's enough out of you, young lass!" Septa Mordane interrupted, entering the room and looking forbiddingly at the handmaiden.

"I didn't say anything wrong, septa, honestly I was just-" Jeyne pleaded her innocence.

The Septa sniffed in disapproval. Jeyne was a good girl most of the time but she was a mite too interested in the males if you asked her, and had a worrying tendency to moon over entirely the wrong sort, just like that Greyjoy lad Ned took on as a ward. She would have to keep an eye out for the girl.

"I heard what you said, young lady. Believe it well!" she intoned, looking down her nose forbiddingly.

As soon as Jeyne scurried away, having been suitably chastened, Sansa turned to her septa.

"Would it be permissible for us to attend this musicale at the Tyrells? You remember, we met them at the modiste?"

Septa Mordane scanned the little card, with keen eyes. Sansa found herself silently hoping her septa would not object. She found she really wanted to go and meet Margaery and Willas in their town house.

"Well, everything seems perfectly in order." she said eventually. "I don't see what harm it will do. Of course, I shall have to consult with Lady Arryn about this."

Sansa thought this was a bit rich, since they hadn't even met Lady Arryn. She wasn't sure how much she really wanted to be dictated to by a woman she barely knew, even if she was her Aunt.

"Thank you Septa. It's most important that we start to make friends here." She said dutifully.

"All the same, I'll be going with you my lady, just to be sure. One can't be too careful in the big city, dear."

* * *

Sansa couldn't settle down to sleep. She was very excited about the supper at the Tyrell's townhouse and the chance she would meet Willas again._ I do hope we become friends, _she told herself, as she tried to go to sleep._ I really hope that he likes me as much I might very easily start to like him._

It was not long before she was going to the palace to make her debut and be introduced to the king and his family. It was a big adventure and Sansa wasn't quite sure whether she was ready to take the step.

_Mother and Aunt Lysa went to court all those years ago to make great matches, and meet their peers. When Mother left Riverrun she must have been my age, or a little younger, and that was in the middle of a war! If she could do it, and meet Uncle Brandon and then my father, then so can I. At least I've started to make friends here. Lady Margaery and her family were so welcoming and pleasant. I'm so glad we met them today at the modiste._

_What a stroke of luck that was! _


	2. Chapter 2

Whitehall Palace

Sansa and Arya had been up since the early hours of the morning getting ready for their presentation to the King and Queen at the palace. Sansa was in a fret, desperate to make a good impression before such illustrious and elevated people. There was so much at stake and they could not afford to fail. Not when Mother had made such an effort to send them so very far away.

"Will you stop pacing, Sansa? You're making **me** nervous now!" Arya declared, after her elder sister passed her for the fourth time, wringing her hands and fidgeting with the solid silver wolf ring on her finger, which was a Stark family inheritance. Her fingers fluttered towards the silk violets in her hair, cunningly made to look as if real and scented delicately with the fragrance of the flower.

Sansa bit her lip, turning huge worried eyes on her sister. "I can't help it-"

Arya looked at her with a glimmer of understanding. Sansa was like this, though she allowed few to see this side of her, fretting about the need to be perfect at all times. A fool's errand, surely! How could you please everyone all the time? 'Tis impossible!

"You are fretting, aren't you?"

"Maybe you don't understand why this is so important, but I can't help it. I just want everything to be perfect."  
"It will be."

Sansa looked at Arya a bit dubiously but she wasn't to be swayed.

"You worry far too much. Everything will be just fine." Arya said blithely. "We meet Lord Arryn at the Palace, make our curtsies to the king and look for positions. You're bound to get snapped up by one of the duchesses, or maybe even the Queen seeing as you're so accomplished. I have no idea why you're fretting!"

Sansa said nothing, though she fiddled with her ring once more.

_I wish I could be so confident,_ she thought.

* * *

"I can't believe we're all going to court. This is all so exciting!" Jeyne gushed as the carriage sped towards the palace.

"Aren't you excited, Lady Arya?"

"You're more than welcome to take my place if you want to that much, Jeyne, believe me." Arya muttered.

Arya's scowl deepened. She couldn't have more unimpressed if she had been trying. No matter which way she sat, she could not get comfortable, not with those torturous cane and whalebone stays digging into her sides, and her long dark pin-straight hair frizzed into oblivion round the sides of her face. _She looked like a damned poodle! What ninnies would willingly put themselves through all this?_

She had to admit her dress was lovely, pearl-grey satin which was so pale it almost looked white trimmed with silver. Her skirts were held back with cloth of silver rosettes and she was wearing little matching slippers. Her dark hair was done up in a Grecian style knot bound with a string of pearls entwined with silver ribbon. She wasn't really one for fashion, not like Sansa and Jeyne, but she had to admit that Madame Marianne had done herself proud.

Sansa sighed long-sufferingly, trying hard to have patience with her younger sister. She smoothed her light cream satin skirts round her into graceful folds. "Please try and be a bit more positive, Arya. This is a very great honour for us, can't you see that?"

Arya grunted in rather an unladylike fashion, evidently not feeling that grateful at all.

"It's one day. We should have a couple of days for you to run wild at the end of the week. Please Arya, can you not do this for me, and Mother?" Sansa pleaded. "You do look so well in our house colours. Mother would be so pleased and proud."

She knew what a concession Sansa was granting her; she ought to be grateful her sister wasn't pressuring her to spend her time in more ladylike pursuits. Sansa might have not remotely understood her longing for freedom, but at least she was trying.

"Alright! I promise nothing though."

Sansa flashed her sister a little encouraging smile, just the tilt of the corner of her mouth.

"Thank you, Arya." She mouthed silently.

* * *

Whitehall Palace loomed up in front of them, a hodge-podge of buildings from different eras. The red brick of the main area with its Tudor style facade, the green and well-kept gardens where well-dressed courtiers whiled away the day and the bustle of lords and servants as they went on their way. The palace stretched all the way from Charing Cross down to Westminster bordering the river with its own wharf, timber-yard and brewery. The palace sprawled like a loose-limbed old mongrel taking a rest by the river bank.

Sansa could hear the muted cries of the ferrymen as boats went up and down the Thames. The royal family and the great men of the realm used it as a convenient and private thoroughfare. All down the banks, as far as the eye could see lay the houses and palaces of the great and good. Greenwich, Hampton Court, the Tower, St James's Palace…

"Looks more of a rabbit warren than a palace-" Arya remarked looking bemusedly at the place. "What's the wagering we're going to get hopelessly lost for months, until we get our bearings?"

"The Palace has been built and added to for centuries. There's parts of it that date right back to the Middle Ages. Can you imagine? All that history-" Sansa looked round with rapt eyes, obviously imagining herself as part of some fantastical tale. "- those great men and women that lived and died here. What tales these stones could tell!"

Arya shook her head. Gods, her sister was such a romantic, with her dreams of mythical knights, fair ladies and long-gone days! "You and your tales, Sansa!" she contented herself with saying.

* * *

"Try not to fidget, Arya!" Sansa said to her sister as they waited to be presented to the King and Queen. They were meant to be meeting their uncle by marriage, Lord Arryn, who had kindly offered to smooth their way at court.

She hid her trembling hands in her light cream satin skirts wishing to appear calm and serene even though she was terrified and nervous at the thought of being presented to royalty and the court. _Was she ready to enter such a large and important stage?_

Septa Mordane had reassured her that she would be a credit to her House and that the king would be inclined to be favourable for the sake of their father Ned who had been a hard-working and valiant member of the royalist forces.

Charles was not a man who forgot the valour and bravery of the men who'd given their lives and their fortunes to gain him back his throne. He remembered his friends and for the most part forgave his enemies.

This was a time of new beginnings for the entire realm and the dark days of the Interregnum had been banished, hopefully never to return.

* * *

They had been waiting for only a few moments when a man with white hair and a kindly face approached them.

"My word, is that little Sansa? And Arya?"

"Uncle Jon!" Arya beamed at their uncle and darted forwards to shake his hand. Sansa made her most polite and graceful curtsy to him, which made him smile and buss her lightly on the cheek. Her father had always talked fondly of Jon Arryn, referring to him as fondly as a second father and a truly good man.

"You both look wonderful!" he told them. "Your mother's done you both proud and at least you'll be able to keep each other company during your debuts."

"Wait for the king to come out of the chapel and we'll introduce you there. I thought perhaps you'd want a little informality. Make things a mite less intimidating for you. Charles isn't quite such a stickler for formality as his father and mother were." Lord Arryn said with a kindly smile. "I wish Lysa was here to see your great day, but Robin is somewhat indisposed and she dotes on the lad. I will be sure to tell her what a success you girls had."

Sansa steeled herself for the challenge ahead. _I must not be afeared. I am a Stark of Winterfell. I must not let Mother and Robb down. I can do this._

* * *

Sansa wasn't sure she could deal with the tension any more when Arya gave her a nudge. "Look, I think they're coming! Uncle Arryn's going to introduce us now!"

An elegant group was ambling towards them in the garden, a constellation of courtiers hovering like satellites around them. Sansa took one look at them, and the tall dark man that dominated the group and she knew who they were.

_It's now or never, Gods help me, let me not make a fool out of myself! _She said internally.

"May I present to you my lovely nieces Lady Sansa and Lady Arya Stark, daughters of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Earl of Winterfell." Lord Arryn announced. "This is his royal Majesty Charles the Second of the House of Stuart, King of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales and his Queen, Catherine of Braganza."

The king loomed over them, extending a hand to raise them from their deep curtsies. Sansa sneaked a look at the king, awed by his height, presence and charisma.

He didn't really look remotely English, inheriting the dark Medici colouring of his Gascon ancestor Henri IV from his mother, Queen Henrietta-Maria. He had dark hair and skin with a full sensual mouth underneath his neat facial hair. Charles was remarkably tall, topping six foot in height with dark striking looks, almost gipsyish in complexion, the pristine white of his cravat highlighting the warm swarthy darkness of his complexion. He had a broad friendly smile as he took in the girls, his teeth shining white in contrast.

Arya stepped forward boldly to return his greeting, ignoring Sansa's sharp elbow. She smiled back at him, all friendly and winning, disarming any surprise at her boldness with her youthful sincerity.

"Your Majesty, we are glad to see you in your rightful place. My father never lost faith you would return to us."

The gathered courtiers gasped at her daring, but Charles smiled at the bold young lass in front of him, liking her artlessness already.

The king smiled indulgently at her, taking her arm. "Ned Stark was the best and bravest of men. It saddens me he is no longer here to see us regain our place." He bent down from his great height and gave her a ceremonial kiss on her cheek. "I am honoured to have his daughters here at my court. Welcome-"

The crowd of courtiers gasped at such an overt sign of good favour from the monarch. Jon Arryn looked pleased as punch that the girls had made so positive an impression on the new monarch.

"I believe you may be of an age with my darling Myrcella. Myrcella darling, come meet our newest debutantes!" Charles called.

A girl with masses of shiny golden ringlets and a magnificent gown of gold silk overlaid with black lace came forth. She dipped into a graceful little curtsey, her emerald green eyes glinting with good humour and kindness. Arya found she couldn't help but like her a bit.

"Papa?" Arya realised that she must be one of the king's many illegitimate children, brought up as one of his own.

"-and where's Tommen?" said Charles looking round for his young lad.

Myrcella grinned at her father. "Tommen wanted to take the spaniels for a walk after chapel, but he said Ser Pounce was too small to run with the pack, so he would carry the pups with him."

Charles's smile turned fond. Sansa could see he was as fond of the lad as he was of Myrcella.

"This is Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. She's newly arrived at court and is of an age to you, I suspect. Would you be kind enough to take her under your wing and show her round court, dear?"

"Of course, Papa! Your slightest wish is my command!" the girl swung on his arm affectionately, beaming as he kissed her on the cheek. He seemed very fond of the girl and she basked in his affection like a flower leaning towards the sun.

"Good lass! And perhaps later you and Jemmy might show me and your uncle James that galliard you've been practicing, eh?"

"Of course, dear Papa. Lady Arya, come with me and I'll start showing you round. The palace might seem like a rabbit warren, but once you get the knack, you'll be running round in no time."

"And who is this?" the king asked, turning to the quieter Stark maiden.

Arya pushed Sansa forward. Mortified by Arya's daring , she kept her head demurely low.

"This is my elder sister, Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell." Arya was saying confidently, as if she and Charles were the very best of old friends.

He raised her chin to look at her closer. "My lady, I am very glad to-" his deep urbane voice trailed away as he took in the beauty of her features. "Oh!-" he stared at her as if he simply could not tear his eyes away.

The little Queen by his side kept her polite friendly smile, even though she must be been disconcerted and embarrassed by how her husband was behaving to this stranger.

Sansa stared back at him, riveted by his sheer charisma, and his dark surprisingly handsome looks. Oh, he was as magnificent and fascinating as all the tales said. She couldn't believe she was in his presence.

"Sire?-" she said in a soft shy voice, gazing at him as intensely as he was at her.

Why was her heart fluttering against her busk so swiftly?

"You must be one of the most gorgeous girls I've ever seen. Utterly exquisite-" his deep smooth voice was hushed with awe as he stared at her, quite unable to tear his eyes away.

Despite herself, Sansa felt a teeny thrill that she managed to have such a potent effect on a king. Especially one as famous, thrilling, and charismatic as him.

They stepped towards each other, as attracted as iron filings to a magnet. His fine hand ran down one soft cheek, caressing her.

She shivered, struck by the tingle the path of his his fingertips had awakened in her. "Sire, please-"

He blinked recovering his equanimity swiftly, as if suddenly realising that they were not alone. "Dear me, I have forgotten my manners most terribly!" he said, pulling himself together briskly. "This is my Queen Catherine-" he announced, gesturing to his wife.

She was a small lady with dark Mediterranean features – dark brown masses of hair and coal dark eyes with a sallow complexion. She was tiny compared to her giant of a royal husband, barely coming up to chest height on him. Sansa thought she was as petite as Arya, almost childlike in her demeanour, although she gazed at him with adoring eyes. Her dress and jewels were magnificent, befitting a queen of the realm, all stiff cloth of gold and magnificent pearls embroidered on her stomacher, at her ears and round her throat.

Sansa got the sense she was a pleasant lady, but a bit shy._ I'd like to work for her if I could gain a position at court, _she found herself thinking._ I should like to be her friend, if it's not too presumptuous to think it_

"You are new to court? You come to join us?" Catherine said. Her accent was still quite pronounced but as she smiled in welcome, the girls felt far more at ease.

"Yes, your Grace."

"Please rise! Any friend of my husband is a friend of mine. He talk of this Ned Stark. He said he was a loyal and good man-" she raised them both up with such a sweet shy smile, even Arya was charmed. "-I did say right, Charles?-" she turned towards her husband, searching for his approval.

He smiled at her fondly, making the little queen glow with happiness. "'Twas very prettily done, Catherine, thank you m'dear."

As the group moved on, Sansa and Arya knew that their royal debut as informal as it was had been a triumph. Lady Myrcella was already taking Sansa by the arm to start showing her round.

Sansa and Jeyne were still in a tizzy afterwards about the fact that Charles had taken such notice of Sansa. Their introduction had been a perfect success!

"Wasn't it so thrilling being presented to the King and Queen? I should have expired on the spot. Is he as handsome as they all make out?" Jeyne asked her mistress, all ahop with excitement.

Sansa had to think about that one. He was handsome, in a strange way. His features were heavy, too overtly sensual to be truly beautiful, and Sansa had noticed the lines of care and cynicism carved into his face- a mark of his sufferings and time abroad in exile, but it was more the way he held himself, the confidence and ease he had in his own skin that made him attractive. The traces of good humour beside his lush sensual mouth, the glint of appreciation for her femininity in his dark smouldering eyes.  
She could see why females lost their heads and threw themselves at him. They could hardly help themselves!

"I...well, I suppose he is." Sansa said, still disconcerted and confused about what she thought about the king, now that she'd met him.

It wasn't remotely like the undeniable attraction she had felt for Willas Tyrell that day at the modiste. Charles's dark gaze swept over her as if he would devour her whole.

She had the sense he would be dangerous, and that to go near him would be to play with fire. Sansa was no fool. She followed the gossip as best she could from the seclusion of Winterfell; she knew that the king had an eye for a beautiful woman, and was known to have strayed from the marital bed. But his spell-bound reaction to her, and her own awed response was a surprise to her as well as him.

_Is he, could he be attracted to me?, _she wondered privately, though she durst not say anything out loud, even to Jeyne.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Stark girls were the topic of avid conversation amongst the courtiers, who were all enjoying a good intrigue and new faces. The girls' arrival was the most exciting thing to happen for a long time.

"Who are these girls and where have they come from?" asked one courtier with interest. "So nice to have some pretty new faces at court."

"It's been a long time since a girl has been so lovely as to leave Charles speechless. His golden tongue was quite stolen away, I fear." One lord said appreciatively.

"She was stunning, though. So young and fresh! What a sweet young maid!"

"It seems that the Stark girls are without a doubt in favour with the king." murmured Baptist May with appraising eyes.

"Really, Bab?" George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham sneered. Inwardly he was pricking his ears up at the prospect that his cousin Barbara might at last have some serious competition for the king's attention. The little redhead looked most intriguing. He would have to see about getting to know her a little better…

He smiled wickedly. "Anyone else would have been slapped down for their familiarity, but Charles seems charmed by the little girl."

"I'm not surprised: she is a winsome little sprite!" Lord Varys simpered behind, performing his usual trick of materialising in the oddest places with a rustle of silk. "Shades of the famous Lyanna, I suspect. She certainly has the Stark look, does she not?"

"It seems Ned Stark's and Lord Arryn's names were good for a great deal. His Majesty was very fond of him and his siblings Brandon and Lyanna."

"Lord Arryn's nieces, aren't they?" said Petyr Baelish, watching them with avid interest._ My God, the eldest was so alike to her mother it had given him a start. _

"They must have lived a secluded life. No one has ever seen them until this day." Villiers was saying.

"I'm not surprised if they're Ned's girls. He retreated back north after the war and raised his brood there. They say that he never went further south than Sheffield for as long as he lived, sickened by war and the regime."

"Bless him, he was such an idealist!" the way Lord Varys said it did not make his statement sound like a compliment.

"Well, they are still rather young. I imagine the eldest has only just escaped the schoolroom. The youngest must be all of five and ten, if that?"

"Very beautiful girls, aren't they? The oldest one will turn heads, even with that hellish shade of hair. What an exquisite face! Wonderful figure too."

"By all accounts they're Catelyn Tully's girls. Remember she went north to marry Ned Stark?" Baelish found himself saying, staring at the loveliness of the girl like a starving man who would never be sated.

It was uncanny- dearest Catelyn reborn again, innocent and free as he'd always remembered. Not with careless bold Brandon Stark's filthy paw-prints all over her, or Ned Stark's clumsy clod-hopping ones. Could this be a second chance?

Even the king seemed enamoured of the girl who was as fresh and lovely as a goddess of spring. "I've never seen the king like that! Lost for words, he was!"

"The Roses of Riverrun. What a stir they caused at Court! I'm sure Lady Arryn will be dying to meet her nieces once again."

"The older girl is the mirror of Lady Catelyn. It gave me quite a turn, I tell you." He remarked, trying to sound unaffected. "You're grinning, Bab. What is it?"

"I think Lady Sansa, in particular, will bear watching. You mark my words. If the girl has any sense she'll capitalise on the fine impression she's made on the king."

"You sound very confident, Bab?" Petyr made a point of saying to his friend as he moved close to intrigue further.

Baptist May was very close to his Majesty, he knew everyone as Keeper of the Privy Purse and if anyone knew the king's mind, it was likely to be Bab as he was informally known. If he made a comment, it was to be noted.

Bab leaned closer to his friend and lowered his voice confidingly. "Between you and me, I think we're looking at a change in the guard. Things should get very interesting round here, I suspect."


	3. Chapter 3

Arya was inquisitively inspecting her new surroundings and taking in the magnificence of Whitehall Palace, when she heard two court ladies talking in an alcove most animatedly. Some instinct told her to slow , and pay attentions to what was being said. She was soon glad she had taken caution, as the ladies proved to have been talking about Sansa and her appearance at court.

"So what did you think of our new debutantes?"

The other woman made a scornful noise that Arya heard. She frowned, pressing herself closer to the hedge in an attempt to hear what was being said._ No doubt this wasn't going to be flattering!_

"The elder one certainly made an impression on the king, didn't she?" the redhead said archly. Arya realised the identity of the two ladies and curled her lip a little. Barbara Palmer, Lady Castlemaine- the most notorious woman at Court- was keen to discuss the newcomers, and if it happened to cause some discord between her and her rival Cersei Lannister Baratheon, then that was all to the better!

"A sly bold jade with her eye on the main chance. I saw - if you did not - the shameless way she stared at Charles."

The other woman laughed meanly, a throaty vicious laugh like a punch to the gut. "Women always stare at Charles. How can they help it when he looks so singular?"

"And he makes no bones about staring back! She didn't have to stare back at him, the arrant slut! And as for that shy tremulous act; well, I have her measure! Give her a week and she'll be making eyes at him, just like the rest of them!"

Arya sprang out of her hiding place ready to confront these two for their disparaging words. _No one insults my sister in my hearing and gets away with it. I don't give a damn who you are!_

Arya's eyes narrowed in challenge. "What did you say about my sister?" she asked in a dangerous voice.

The blonde looked down her nose at Arya, infuriating her even further. She'd never had such a strong urge to slap someone in some time. Her hand twitched by her side. Arya had to clench her hand to stop her from lashing out.

It was remarkable just how like Lady Myrcella looked like her, even down to the golden ringlets and green eyes. Arya suspected they might well be related.

_Damn, trust me to make friends with one court lady with one hand and antagonise her relative with the other! God's bones, I'm never going to get the hang of this!_

"It's none of your business, little chit."

Arya was not about to back down. Her grey eyes flashed. "It is my business when you talk about my sister."

"Honestly, Cersei, what does the little girl want?" the other woman rolled her eyes, bored of the confrontation, and not taking Arya seriously at all.

"You were speaking ill of my sister, and I'll not have it! I would ask you to apologise, but frankly that would require you to have some manners!" Arya looked down her nose at both of them.

The blonde blinked, amazed at being castigated by a mere girl!

"Bold little madame, ain't ye? What are you, twelve?" her companion sneered, her bold, reddened lip curling in scorn.

Arya glared at her, insulted by the red-head's tone, and the supercilious manner in which the older woman looked down at her. She drew herself up to her full height. "I happen to be nearly five- and ten, madam!" She snapped, not caring if she sounded rude.

"You don't know to whom you speak, child."

Arya returned her stare, defiant and cool. She wasn't scared of these women, whoever they were. "Neither do I care, to be frank."

"You are a very rude and belligerent girl. You won't get anywhere here with an attitude like that."

Arya found she didn't much care because if she was honest she would rather be back home in Winterfell, but Sansa who wanted do desperately to fit in and worried so much about it would. She heard the implied threat and bristled.

"I don't give a damn what you think about me or who you are. But you keep away from Sansa and me, if you have nothing pleasant to say. Got it?"

She was about to flounce away with the magnificence of a grand lady well beyond her years, when she heard Sansa's voice coming from the direction of the west wing.

"Arya? Arya, come back! Lady Myrcella and I are looking for you. Where the dickens have you got to now?"

The two girls spilled out into the alcove, right into the middle of the tense situation. Sansa could sense the antagonism between the two ladies and her sister, you could have cut the atmosphere with a spoon, it was so thick.

Myrcella bobbed into a curtsey. "My lady Mother-" she murmured, kissing the older woman's presented cheek.

"She really is your mother?" Arya asked in wonder, looking between them with a look that veered betwixt wonder and dismay.

Myrcella gave her an odd smile. She seemed amused by Arya's surprise. "Of course! This is Lady Cersei Lannister Baratheon, Lady Casterly. My mother."

Cersei didn't even extend her greeting. She looked down her nose at the two new debutantes and swished away in a flurry of oyster and gold silks. "Come, Myrcella. I have been waiting for you to attend me."

Myrcella looked doubtful. "But Papa said I should show the new debutantes round and we've barely covered the West Wing-"

Cersei gave a false smile, teeth-rotting in it's poisonous insincerity. "I'm sure the girls will not get lost for an hour. Come, you have a fitting for the Venetian assembly on Friday, we must not tarry."

She steered her daughter away from the girls. Myrcella shrugged and gave them a rueful smile over her shoulder. "Sorry girls, I'll make it up to you both, I promise-"

The redhead turned to follow her, but not before fixing the Stark girls with a piercing gaze from her quite spectacular eyes which were violet and heavy-lidded in a sensual exotic way. Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine, as if some had stepped over her grave.

_Not a woman to cross by any means, what on earth was Arya thinking?_

* * *

Arya Stark, have you a death wish or something? Honestly, I cannot take my eye off you for one second! How on earth can you have got into an argument here already? We've only just arrived!" Sansa fretted, her voice tight with anxiety as she steered her younger sister away.

Arya insolently shot a sharp look at the older lady who was staring at the pair of them with evil eyes.

"Those two could do with some manners being beat into them with a large cudgel!" muttered Arya.

"You have got to be japing!" Sansa looked thoroughly appalled. "You were arguing with them?"

"They started it-"

Sansa's lips pressed thin in disapproval. "Arya, you're not a child any more. Please!"

"They shouldn't have talking about you behind your back. You wouldn't have liked it if you had heard them." Arya's chin jutted out defiantly.

_The situation was getting worse and worse. For the love of God, they'd barely got here!_  
"Please tell me you didn't just berate them. Arya?"

Arya was pouting. She had that truculent look on her face that Sansa knew only too well. "So what if I did?"

Sansa sighed in exasperation. Really, the girl was impossible! She was surprised Arya hadn't tried to thump one of them and where would they be then? "Arya! You can't just go round saying as you please to people, especially not here! Did you know who those ladies were?"

Arya shrugged, as if she didn't much care, in all frankness.

"That was Lady Castlemaine and the Duchess of Casterly! Two of the most powerful ladies of the court, in the entire country! You can't insult them with impunity!"

"So they're justified in saying things about you, are they?" Arya flashed back. "Because I assure what they were saying was not very pleasant!"

Sansa sighed again, trying for patience in the face of extreme provocation. Really, she knew Arya meant well; she could see that, and she appreciated her loyalty to her, but this was not remotely helping! "I can't afford to make enemies when we've only just arrived. I haven't even gained a position yet and neither have you! We can't afford to fail!"

"Why should I tiptoe round them when their only claim to merit is that they happened to warm the King's bed. 'Tis hardly genius!" Arya's nose wrinkled in disgust, unimpressed by the grand ladies.

Sansa shook her head at her sister's forthright and disrespectful tone. "I know you meant well, I do...but please Arya, this isn't home any more. We have to be careful."

* * *

Sansa hoped that Arya's tangle with the royal mistresses had not utterly ruined her chance of getting a position as a lady-in-waiting at court. As grateful as she was to her younger sister for sticking up for her and leaping to her defence, it really didn't do to offend such influential and proud ladies in their first days there.

She waited outside the Duchess of York's receiving chamber getting more and more nervous. She wished that Margaery could have been with her. She seemed so worldly and self-assured, she know what to do in this situation.

She was ushered into the presence of the Duchess of York. Sansa curtsied deeply and waited for the lady to acknowledge her.

"Lady Sansa Stark, isn't it?" the duchess indicated she could rise.

Anne Hyde may not have been a great Court Beauty; in fact her features were irredeemably plain, her skin too sallow and uneven, her mouth was too wide. But she had a kind manner and intelligent sharp eyes that seemed to take in a person at a glance. Sansa hoped that she was able to make a good impression. So far after Arya's debacle with the royal mistresses she wasn't doing that well and she was starting to fret.

"You search for a position at court." She remarked. "I presume you want to work for me, do you?"

"Certainly, my lady."

"Any accomplishments?"

"I sing and dance, I play the theorbo, guitar, the harp and the harpsichord. I write a good hand, I read English, French and Latin and I'm very good with a needle."

Anne Hyde rifled through her letters, considering her accomplishments. Sansa wished fervently that Anne would give her chance.

_Please let me have a position in your household. You seem like a decent lady to work for and at least I wouldn't have to jockey for a position in the Queen's household. Far too close to Charles…_ she thought, although she didn't want to admit that last thought in public.

"I have a space in my entourage, Lady Stark. I suppose you'd do to fill it since Winnifred has moved to the Queen's service."

Sansa hardly dared to hope that she would be able to find a position so swiftly at court particularly as she knew so few people. She just needed a foot in the door and a means to make contacts.

"I won't have space for your sister, unfortunately but she's a capable girl; I'm sure that something will come up for her."

Sansa was a little sceptical, but she didn't argue with her new employer.

"Lady Myrcella might be in the market for a new lady-in-waiting and they seemed to react quite well to each other. Perhaps she should try there? I know that she is Charles's illegitimate daughter, but he treats her like his own flesh and blood. There would be no shame in taking a position with her."

"I'll mention it to her." Sansa said. "Thank you kindly for the suggestion."

"No problem at all, dear girl."

"Thank you, Thank you very much, Milady." Sansa was overwhelmed with gratitude, tension draining from her that she didn't even know she had been holding.

"Although I suspect that being a maid of honour might not be her métier. Am I right?" the duchess's eyes twinkled as they met Sansa's.

Sansa flushed. _So Anne Hyde had noticed that mess with Lady Castlemaine and the Duchess of Casterly? She was never going to be able to live that down, was she?_

"Just one thing, Lady Stark-" the duchess added. There was a determined look on her face. "If the Duke troubles you in any way, you will come straight to me won't you?"

Sansa wasn't quite sure what Anne meant. "Troubles me, Ma'am?"

The older woman gave her a curious look as if to say: can she really be such an innocent? She cleared her throat and leaned forward confidentially. "James is a Stuart by blood and they can be quite… er amorous by nature." A flush grew on her sallow cheeks. "None of them can resist a beauty and you'll forgive me saying it but you are quite uncommonly pretty."

A wash of embarrassment came over Sansa. She could feel her cheeks flushing red as the duchess's implication became clear. _Septa Mordane's etiquette and deportment lessons had certainly not covered situations like this!_

"I wouldn't…I would never! My lady, please!"

Anne's determined severe expression melted once more. Sansa felt like she had secretly been on trial and she had by some miracle passed.

"You're a good girl. I don't think you would. But I had to know, you see."

"Had to know what, my Lady?" Sansa couldn't help asking. She couldn't help but feel she was a true innocent abroad in this place and this was an entirely different world she was in no way equipped for. For a moment, she wished she could have had her mother here to guide her but she had been sent here to find her fortune at court as Lady Catelyn had once done. She would have to dig deep and rely upon herself.

"That you wouldn't stab me in the back and fall into my husband's bed." Anne's eyes gleamed with determination. "I worked damned hard to get him. I'll not relinquish him easily."

* * *

Anne Hyde wanted Sansa to settle in immediately. She introduced her to her fellow ladies-in-waiting who lounged in the garden.  
"This is my newest handmaiden, Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. So do be nice to her, will ye girls?"  
With that she disappeared, leaving Sansa with the distinct impression she was meant to either sink or swim in these deceptively shallow waters.

The women eyed her cautiously until one of them stepped forwards.

"This is the Lady Sansa Stark, you remember her? She was introduced to the King and Queen in the garden yesterday morning with her sister. You know the pert one who tangled with Cersei and Barbara-" said one lady, richly dressed in bright yellow satin. She had a rather imperious look on her face and seemed to be a bit older than the rest of them. Sansa was not sure about her and was instinctively wary of her. "I am Lady Shrewsbury, senior lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of York."

"She's got guts to go up against them so soon. Can't help but admire the lass-" The blonde girl stood to greet her with an affected kiss to her cheek which came off rather Frenchified rather than friendly but her big blue-grey eyes twinkled with good humour. "Jane Middleton. Pleased to meet you girls, you caused quite a stir at court."

"So tell me, how are you finding court?" said a petite maid of honour with curious harebell-blue eyes and a long inquisitive nose. She practically quivered at the prospect of finding out all about her. "I'm Lady Betty Felton, lovely to meet you."

Sansa had already heard that Lady Betty was one of the most inveterate gossips of the court. She stuck that long inquisitive nose into every scandal and into every one's business. Sansa decided that although she seemed outwardly friendly enough she could not trust her just yet.

_Can I trust anyone here at all? _She asked herself.

Betty didn't seem to notice her reserve, lacing her arm in hers and leading her into the heart of the group, as if they were the very best of friends. Sansa watched them warily, feeling like she was just about to run the gauntlet.

_I can be brave. I can handle this. _

For a moment, she dearly wished she had some of Margaery's poise, or Arya's boldness to tide her over.

"I expect you've come to make your fortune, and to make an illustrious match-" said a languid brunette beauty with cherry red ribbon bunches at her sleeves.

Sansa vaguely remembered seeing her about town with Theon who was a bit of a lothario and always seemed to have ladies hanging round him, admiring his dark good looks and swagger which he had in abundance. There was a mean look to her face, just an undercurrent, that made Sansa sense that Lady Bridget disliked her, though she barely knew her and had done nothing to her knowledge to warrant it.

"That's Lady Bridget Sanderson, and next to her Lucy Moncrieff, Cary Frazier, Winnifred Wells, Anna-Maria Brudenell Countess of Shrewsbury, and Arabella Dalgleish."

The females looked at her with varying degrees of friendliness. Lucy was beaming at her and giving her a wink, which cheered her immensely. Sansa made a mental note to avoid Arabella and Anna-Maria, who didn't come across as very warm or friendly.

"She's pretty enough. We all have to look to our laurels now, girls, we have competition!" She heard one girl whisper to her friend, loud enough that they could still be heard.

The last thing Sansa wanted was to have these women as rivals. She had no doubt they would stab her in the back as soon as look at her. She doubted she would find the genuine friendship she'd gained from Margaery Tyrell here.

"Don't you cast around with Margaery Tyrell?" asked Arabella with a malicious tone to her tinkling voice. Sansa stiffened, aware that she was being subtly mocked.

"I have met her recently; she was very kind to me." She answered with dignity.

The girl's eyes gleamed in triumph. Her mean little laugh was like smashed glass. "Kind? You're probably one of the few friends she's got!"

Anna-Maria seemed to find it inordinately hysterical, laughing openly behind her ostrich feather fan, before being nudged by Jane and hushing up.

Sansa didn't much like the way these women spoke of Margaery who had been nothing but kind and welcoming to her but she was new here and didn't feel she had the right to rebuke these ladies just yet. It made her feel like a bit of a coward though to keep silent. Arya would have given them the rough edge of her tongue for insulting her, but Sansa was trying to be tactful. No need to make enemies just yet.

"I can't help but feel bad for her, despite her disgrace. Marrying a duke and such a young handsome one like Renly Baratheon and then to be shamed like that." mused Lucy. "Surely, it must be a girl's worst nightmare!"

"Wasn't he gorgeous though?" Lady Betty sighed, her blue eyes misting over at the thought of the dreamy yet disgraced duke. "So tall and handsome, like a god! So witty and charming he was, always well-dressed and a smile for the ladies."

"God, Lady Betty and her ridiculous pash for Renly Baratheon!" Bridget bitchily rolled her eyes. "She'll ne'er shut up now!"

"Can you blame Betty for having a secret tendre for Renly, really? He was ridiculously beautiful, we all wanted him!" Lucy confided.

There were murmurs of agreement from the ladies-in-waiting. Evidently this Lord Renly was quite the heart-throb, and Sansa suspected that the antipathy of the women towards her friend Margery owed a great deal to jealousy that she'd got him and they had failed to.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have said no! I would have ridden him like one of Prince Rupert's cavalry!" Jane grinned, a lascivious look on her face.

Sansa couldn't believe her ribald talk; she could feel her cheeks flushing with embarrassment._ How these court ladies talked! She didn't think that she would ever get used to it. Septa Mordane and her mother would have fits if they would have heard them! _"Jane!"

Jane looked around her with a shameless gleam in her eyes, utterly unrepentant and bold. "You thought it too, girls, do not deny it!"

"Ignore her, Jane is a shameless wench with an eye for a handsome man, she just can't help herself." Lucy laughed, thoroughly amused by her friend's shameless lustfulness. She giggled and winked at Sansa from behind her fan, full of mischief.

"He might be in disgrace, but I liked the fellow." Betty pouted defiantly. "- and I don't care what anyone says, there's little proof he did anything wrong. Isn't it innocent until proven guilty?"

"Most people in that position would have retired to the country but she didn't, did she?" Anna-Maria butted in.

"Just stayed in town with her head up as if she had nothing to be ashamed of." sneered Arabella. "Well, the Tyrells always were a bit shameless. New money, you know-"

Sansa decided right there that she didn't much like Arabella. _What a mean- spirited character!_

Arabella was still harping on about Margaery, with a malicious glee that was most unbecoming. "Got herself a match with another eligible young nobleman, as bold as you please. If she plays her cards right, she won't even have to lose the title. Where's the justice in that?"

Sansa could hear the judgment in their voices and disagreed with these cruel yet worldly ladies.

_She doesn't have anything to be ashamed of, _thought Sansa. She admired Margaery for being brave enough to carry on with her life and not let the scandal bear her down. _Why should she be blamed for her husband's actions? She didn't know Lord Renly or exactly what had happened but it didn't seem fair to blame Margaery as these ladies did._

_You must watch these ladies and never get comfortable, not when they are ready to turn and tear one to shreds at a moment's notice.  
However friendly these girls might seem these aren't my friends and I must ne'er forget it. _

* * *

She saw a familiar head of gold streaked curls heading towards the Queen's apartments and hurried to catch her up._ Bother these shoes, the heels were far too high for comfort, _Sansa thought, as they pinched and rubbed unmercifully. Some practical flat slippers would be just the thing right now. Bother fashion! She was going back to the cobblers to get some made up._ Or perhaps Jeyne and she could go for a wee shopping trip to the Exchange. You could buy practically everything there!_

"Margaery!" she called. "Lady Tyrell, please wait!"

Her friend turned to face her, pasting a smile on her pretty face. Sansa wondered what she was thinking about to make her look so pensive and sad, but she thought it best not to bring it up now.

"Hullo, sweet pea! What are you doing here?" she smiled. "Gosh, you look pretty. That was a marvellous choice you made for your presentation dress. So charming and fresh! Did it go well?"

"Yes, I was a little worried, but everyone in the royal party put us at great ease. Lady Myrcella has been nothing but kind."

"I'm glad!" Margaery looked genuinely pleased for her. "Lady Myrcella is a good sort, very friendly and down to earth- strange, considering her mother, really-" she stopped herself from saying any more, her mouth snapping closed.

Sansa noticed that Margaery didn't seem to like Lady Casterley that much either and felt a little better for not having befriended the imperious blonde.

"I've been looking for a position as a lady-in-waiting. The Duchess of York seems to have a vacancy. She was very encouraging when I went to see her." Sansa told her, wondering whether Margaery knew anything about her new employer and the Duke of York.

"The Duchess of York's not a bad sort, really, and her father is friends with Jon Arryn. You'll do well there. Just watch out for the Duke's wandering hands, aye?"

Sansa had noticed that this was the second time someone had warned her about James, Duke of York and his amorous tendencies. She resolved to be on her guard.

"Have you got a position yet?" Sansa asked. "I was so hoping we could get a position together, but I didn't see you in the Duchess's entourage. Are you attending the Queen instead, like Lady Leonette?"

Margaery's mouth twisted into a lightly bitter line. "It's a little harder for me, angel."

Sansa's brow creased in surprise. "Why? You're accomplished. You're beautiful. You would be an ornament to anyone's entourage."

Margaery looked at her appraisingly, as if trying to work out whether she could trust her.

"Are you needed any more here?" she said eventually, watching Sansa with a keen eye.

Sansa wondered what she wanted with her. "No, the Duchess dismissed me for the day. I was just about to head home for lunch, and to get some new clothes for duties at the palace-"

Margaery's eyes looked very serious for once. Sansa had to wonder what this was all about. "Can we share a carriage? We need to talk. In private-"

* * *

"I see you were talking to the other ladies in waiting in the garden-" Margaery observed, once they were in the carriage. "-Did you manage to make many friends there?"

Sansa didn't really know what to say. She noticed the tension when she talked of them and the disparaging opinion most of the ladies in waiting had of her new friend, sneering about her mysterious husband. She was loyal to Margaery who had been such a good friend to her at the beginning when she had really needed it.

"There were a couple that were friendly, but most them were a little-" Sansa hesitated to criticise, when she had only just arrived at court.

"- a little cut-throat? Bitchy? You don't have to hold back, I know what they are like, to my cost." Her dainty little chin went up proudly.

Sansa nodded, sensing the court ladies and their attitudes were rather a sore point with Margaery.

"Did they say anything about my husband? I have no doubt that they were tearing him and I to shreds behind our backs-" there was a sharp tinge to Margaery's voice that Sansa had never heard before. "-Bella Dalgleish could ne'er resist sticking the knife in."

_So she misliked Bella Dalgleish as she was starting to! That was interesting!_

"To be honest, Margaery, I didn't know you had been married. Let alone to a Duke! Why, you should have an entourage of your own!"

"Sweet pea, I am no longer a duchess, so no entourage for me, I'm afraid!" Margaery's smile was a little bitter as she spoke. "If I tell you the tale, you will not judge me?"

"Of course I wouldn't!" Sansa exclaimed. "You're my friend, why would I do something like that?"

"My friend? Truly?" Margaery looked so unsure, so unlike her usual confident self, Sansa went to hug her.

"Of course I am! And I dearly hope you feel the same way-"

Margaery's eyes sparkled a little. She gave her a woebegone smile. "You dear sweet girl."

"Please tell me what happened?"

"I came to court a couple of years ago. It had been all I had desired since I was a young girl- to be a member of the court, to make a good match." Margaery confided, unburdening herself at last.

"As we all do-" Sansa assured, troubled by the cynical tone in her friend's voice.

_What had happened to disillusion her so much?_

"I wanted to marry a rich handsome man, have his children and live happily ever after. I married a young gorgeous duke and made the match of the season. For one moment I thought I had it all, and then it slipped through my fingers."

_Margaery married a duke? On her first season? _Sansa gaped in amazement. _What an achievement for a high-born maid!_

"What happened? Did he die tragically?" Sansa asked. _Oh poor dear Margaery, no wonder she seemed so sad and didn't want to talk of it!_

"He's not dead!" Margaery exclaimed in surprise, before she hastened to explain. "I'm divorced. I deserted my husband, so you see why they disdain me? I am a living reminder that you could make a glorious match and then lose it all. In their eyes I am an abject failure."

Sansa couldn't help but be shocked by her friend's statement_. Deserted her husband?_

"But none of this is your fault, he left you! Lord Renly cheated on you!" Sansa assumed.

Margaery shook her head, "-No, sweetling, that's not quite what happened at all. You see, I left him."

Sansa's eyes were wide with shock. She couldn't believe Margaery's daring. _To up and leave her husband: a duke, no less! _She could understand why, but it was such a drastic step to take and the social consequences were dire as she was starting to see.

"Why? How?"

"I petitioned the king for a divorce, told him we were incompatible and the marriage had never been consummated." There was a flush on Margaery's face that made Sansa wonder how true this was. "He was kind enough to grant it, but it cost my family a pretty penny."

"You still get on with Lord Renly?"

"Oh yes, better than ever. We're best friends pretty much. We get on so much better once we separated." she pulled out a miniature from her reticule. "Here, this is a miniature we had painted to celebrate our betrothal. Happier times-"

Sansa looked down at the exquisite miniature, admiring the detailed workmanship and jewel bright colours. Margaery looked glowing, so young, pretty and innocent; her hair down in glossy disordered natural curls caught up with three golden roses at the side.

The man in the painting must have been one of the most gorgeous men Sansa had seen in her entire short life. Breathtakingly handsome, with long raven black hair spilling onto broad shoulders and fiercely blue- green eyes like the calm clear waters of a tropical pool.

_No wonder Margaery adored him! Little wonder all the ladies-in-waiting drooled over him! _She thought. _I would be devastated to lose a man like that. _

She could barely tear her eyes away from that laughing sensual mouth curved into a smile, those open youthful guileless eyes, the endearing spray of boyish freckles over his distinguished nose. She was surprised by how young he was for a duke._ He must have been nothing more than a lad when they wed!_

She said the first thing that came into her head. "He looks like a young Robert! But pretty-"

"Oh yes, I had forgotten your father and Lord Robert were as close as brethren. All the Baratheon men were like peas in a pod- except for Joffrey." Margaery made a face, and Sansa elected to ask her friend later about this hated Joffrey, she seemed to despise.

"You do seem to care so much for Lord Renly, even after all this?" Sansa asked her.

"-It... well, I don't mind admitting to that leaving him broke my heart. Sansa, I really did care for Renly even though I couldn't stay married to him. He's one of my best friends, even now. He's really kind, charming and handsome. Such a brilliant friend. He really does listen and care for people. He would have done anything for me, I know."

"Except for love you as you deserve."

Margaery looked a little as if she were about to cry. "I'm going to shock you and you'll ne'er speak to me again."

"I won't. Please, Margaery. I cannot bear to see you so sad." Sansa urged. _What could be so terrible that Margaery was convinced her new friend would turn on her?_

"He was in love with my brother-" she confessed in a rush. "That's why…that's why I had to leave him."

Sansa just about managed to suppress a gasp.

"He always had been. Loras was his page and they'd been best of friends since forever. Renly really tried to be decent to me, a kind and indulgent husband but he couldn't, he just couldn't-" Margaery admitted.

Sansa was surprised at her own boldness. "Couldn't sleep with you?"

Margaery shook her head. "In the end it was tearing us all apart. They wanted each other so much. I had to leave him before it destroyed us all."

"You still love him." Sansa said softly, touching her hand to give her some comfort.

"No, Sansa, that's not it. It's a bit more complicated than that. I married him for his position and because he was as handsome as a god. Loras **loves **him. He's his soul-mate, true love like you only find once in a life time. Two stars in the sky made for each other. How could I compete?"

"Why is he in disgrace, then?"

Margaery scowled. "His sister in law is close to the crown, shall we say? You met her. Cersei Lannister Baratheon, Duchess of Casterley-"

Sansa felt a sense of foreboding. She had already come across the icy imperious blonde and had no wish to tangle with her further.

"Cersei and Renly despised each other, since before I met her. She was always an utter bitch to him and me. I truly believe she hates us both, but he would never tell me true what happened to make her his enemy."

Why did this not surprise Sansa one bit? Lady Cersei gave the strong impression she didn't much like anyone!

"The moment she got a hint of his relationship with Loras, she went straight to Charles and started spreading her poison."

"The king believed her lies? Was there no way he could have pled his innocence?" Sansa asked.

"Cersei is his mistress of many years, and the mother of his children, of course he believed her!" Margaery told her. "Charles is easy going about most things, but he has no tolerance for men and men loving each other- he is convinced it's disgusting, and the height of unnaturalness. He banished Renly, on pain of imprisonment in the Tower. Renly had to flee with Loras, before they both were ruined."

"-and what about you? You're having to suffer the consequences of his disgrace. You're not even married to him anymore!"

"I had to move back home. My father has insisted I make another glorious match to make up for the mess of my first marriage. So he chose Joffrey." Margaery sighed.

"He's not what you want?"

Margaery shook her head. "Girls like me; we don't often get second chances. How many times can I play the marital game before I become tainted goods?" the quietly bitter tone of her friend was unmistakable.

"One day you will have the man to adore and love you as you deserve." Sansa said. If anyone at this court deserved a happy ending, it was Margaery.

Margaery gave her a brave hopeful little smile. Some of her good spirits seemed to be returning. "God, I hope so...I hope so."


	4. Chapter 4

The Tyrell's musicale was a great success. Sansa and Arya were introduced to a gaggle of cousins and female relations of varying fortunes, all very welcoming and cheery. Sansa felt right at home while Arya regarded each new smiling face with a wary countenance.

"This is Megga, Alla and Elinor, my cousins." Margaery introduced the girls briskly as she circulated round the room, making an effort to make her guests at ease and ensure they were enjoying themselves. She smiled and laughed, dazzling all with her sparkling wit.

_She seemed so much more confident and happy away from the disparaging eyes of the court. It's such a shame that those worldly judgemental ladies-in-waiting can't see my friend like this. _

"You've met Leonette from the modiste's, haven't you?"

"I'm Margaery's good-sister." Leonette grinned, shaking Sansa's hand. "Pleased to meet you properly! Margaery and Willas have talked of nothing else for days!"

Sansa could help glancing over at him, knowing he'd heard his good-sister's words. A faint blush hovered round his cheeks as if he were embarrassed. Sansa couldn't help but think it was quite well…endearing, really!

"Come, let us introduce you to some of our set. We make our own amusement away from court, much more fun." Margaery said, weaving her arm in Sansa and drawing her warmly into the group.

"Yes you must attend one of Margaery's salons! Such fun, especially when some of the wits drop in and give a reading or two." said one of her cousins enthusiastically.

Alla giggled. "Such naughty boys, but you can't help but admire them. And of course they all adore our Margaery."

"It can be a bit risqué, but it's such fun!"

"We have the occasional guest from the theatre, or musicians from abroad. Our family are very keen patrons of the arts and I like to follow in their footsteps." Margaery was saying.

" We have La Seraphina dropping in for a night in a couple of weeks, and her niece is a bit of regular- a good friend of mine. I'll introduce you." Leonette added.

Sansa had to admit she was impressed. Pippa Foley, or La Seraphina was as dazzlingly glamorous and beautiful as she was gifted and she commanded high fees and attracted a swarm of ardent admirers and ribald gossip. Sansa already knew that Lady Betty idolised her and would have given her eye teeth to attend.

"What's Lady Evelyn like?" she asked, having heard much about her.

"Nice girl, though she seems not to be very popular at court-" Sansa could well imagine how snide and bitchy the girls could be. If you weren't accepted, your life could very easily be hell.

"Not surprised with that husband of hers! Nick d'Argenteuil is such a dreadful reprobate." Alyce Graceford sniffed. "Handsome and golden-haired as the devil, but-"

Sansa had met Lady Evelyn Ravensbourne at court and liked her, despite her rather eccentric demeanour. She was very pretty, with Celtic red-gold hair rather like her own, and huge sad grey-green eyes like willow leaves on the turn. Eager to make friends, Sansa had tried to talk to her, but Eve was extremely shy, with ink-stained calloused fingertips from playing the viol and violin, and a distracted worried air as if she had a thousand things to worry about at once.

"She's Lord Ormonde's niece, and fair enough to be the pride of his House. But I wonder why he doesn't take better care of her." Megga mused once she had left.

"This is Lady Taena Merryweather, married to one of our family friends, Lord Orton of Longtable-" Leonette introduced them to yet another of Margaery's circle. The woman was wearing a loose gown of deep apricot silk which was positively indecent. Her dark hair was all done up in a mass of dishevelled curls which managed to look deliciously rumpled, rather than untidy. To be frank, she looked like she'd just fallen out of someone's bed.

Septa Mordane gave her disapproving looks from her corner, and both girls could well imagine what she would say to them once she had the chance.

I hope you girls don't think you're going to go round attired like Lady Merryweather. I don't like to cast aspersions but that one is no better than she ought to be.

"This is my septa, Septa Nysterica-" she pointed to a jolly looking septa with a kindly looking face who bobbed a curtsey, "- and my mother Lady Alerie Tyrell."

Alerie had such a kind wise little face and grey hair, pulled back into an elegant topknot. Sansa couldn't help but like their mother. She missed her own, all those miles away in Winterfell.

"It's lovely to meet you dear-" she said kindly, taking her hand and looking deep into her eyes for a moment. She seemed to like what she saw for her friendly smile brightened. "I'm so pleased my children have managed to make some true friends here, especially my dear Maggie."

"Margaery will probably sing for us later. She has a rare talent and we all like to hear her perform." Meredyth Crane said enthusiastically.

"You will sing for us, Margaery, won't you?" Alysanne Bulwer said insistently as all her friends fervently agreed.

"Lady Ravensbourne, will ye accompany me?" Margaery asked. Evelyn nodded, setting down in front of the harpsichord. Margaery tuned the lute and played along.

Sweet stay awhile, why will you rise?  
The light you see comes from your eyes  
The day breaks not, it is my heart  
To think that you and I must part  
Oh stay, or yet my joys will die  
And perish in their infancy

Sansa was impressed by the sweetness in her voice, the honeyed pure tone. She really is rather good. There was a heartfelt sadness in the song that really drew one in and stayed with you._ I wish I could help you, dear Margaery. I wish I could encourage the ladies of court to accept you again, and mend your broken heart_

* * *

Sansa and Willas had managed to get seats together and continue their conversation. It just seemed so easy to talk to him. Sansa hoped in time she could become as good friends with him as she was starting to with his sister.

"May I write to you, whilst I am away on our estate?" Willas asked, as Eve played a passacaille on the viol, her distracted manner dispersed by her absorption in the music she played. Transformed by the music she played, Eve seemed at peace and happy at last.

Such beautiful music…music to fall in love to.

Sansa blushed prettily as she thought of it. She already valued his friendship and wanted to stay close to him. Willas was so kind and easy to get on with. The thought of him leaving town for his estate at Highgarden made her feel a wee bit desolate. "I would like that very much, my lord." She said, her eyes shining in earnest.

He smiled at her, teasing her for her flawless manners a little, but with an affectionate twinkle. In truth it was one of the things he liked most about her. "Always so formal! I think we know each other well enough by now to use first names, do we not?"

"Willas-"She liked the way it sounded in her mouth, the intimacy of using his name.

He smiled at her. "There, that's better already!"

"You like to tease me, ser." She murmured, flirting a little and enjoying his appreciation of her company.

The corner of his mouth went up a little, as he leaned closer. The back of his hand brushed hers again. It seemed like such an intimate thing to do- in public, no less.

"Perhaps I do, my lady." His voice was low and confiding in her ear. "I should very much like to write to you when I am away at Highgarden, and maybe one day you might come and visit."

"I look forward to your letters, Ser." She said softly.

* * *

They had been having such a pleasant time; full of laughter, song, and witty conversation, when there was a disturbance at the door. One of the Tyrell's servants ducked in and had a quiet word with Garlan. His mouth thinned with disapproval as he found out who their unexpected and unwanted guest was.

"Trouble in the offing… Guess who's turned up for dinner?" he said to a circulating Margaery, looking radiant in bronze satin. "I know it's not very nice, but we thought you'd better be on your guard." His nose wrinkled. "Hate to say it, but he looks pissed as a newt already."

She didn't even have to look to realise that her new fiancé Joffrey Baratheon had decided to invade their gathering spreading poison and discord wherever he went. She could feel the tension seeping into her already.

She cursed under her breath in a manner which was distinctly unladylike. "Honestly, does he have no idea of how to behave in public? I purposely didn't invite him. How the heavens did he find out about our soiree?"

"What do you want to do, ser? In the circumstances it might be er, awkward to refuse him entry." The servant hovered ready for Garlan's command.

"Willas?"

He reluctantly pulled himself away from his intimate little chat with Sansa, catching Garlan's eye. Garlan indicated their new unwanted guests.

"Damn!" Willas swore. "What's the betting he causes yet another scene? He's brought Lord Monmouth and Mulgrave with him as well. I'm so sorry about this, dear girl," he said , turning to Sansa, "but I suspect I'm going to have to pitch in and calm the waters before he starts a full-scale fight."

Sansa had never met Joffrey before but she was sensitive enough to pick up on the tension and negativity he managed to spread. There was no escaping his pronounced petulant tone as he managed to offend and irritate their assembled guests with his boorish behaviour. His companions were no better, leering at the ladies and making off-colour jokes to all and sundry.

"Joffrey, what a surprise to see you!" Margaery attempted to keep her voice sweet and polite, even though she was fuming inside.

Joffrey planted one sloppy kiss on her cheek to whoops and howls from his associates, taking the opportunity to goose her thoroughly.

"Please don't, Joffrey dear, you've been drinking." She gritted from clenched teeth. She waved away a livid Garlan who was approaching them ready to rebuke him for spoiling their gathering. Guests were already making feeble excuses to leave, scandalised and upset by what they were saying to them.

Alyce Graceford stormed past in floods of tears, her chin quivering. Margaery envisaged many hours trying to unruffle feathers and apologise extensively for Joffrey's crass behaviour. _At this rate she would be lucky to have any friends left!_

"So who's this pretty little redhead?" Joffrey leered drunkenly all over Sansa, making her recoil from the drink fumes. She could see Margaery grit her teeth, her jaw tight with tension. "You should get her to lift her skirts and let the lads see whether the carpet matches the drapes, eh?"

Sansa was so appalled and shocked by his horrendous remark she was literally struck dumb. How dare he? "Excuse me, ser, do I know you?" she said in her coldest tones, whisking her skirts away to keep him firmly away from her.

"This is Lady Sansa Stark, my new friend. I told you about her-" it was a supreme effort for Margaery to keep her composure, a battle that she was slowly losing.

Joffrey frowned. "Did you? I think I would have remembered a hot piece like that."

Hot Piece! Sansa tried to hide her annoyance and outrage_Did he just call her a hot piece out loud to her face in front of Margaery?_

Her friend's eyes were blinking rapidly to try and get rid of the tears of humiliation in her eyes. He was behaving abominably. Joffrey had to doing this on purpose. There was no way someone could be so crass.

"I can say what I like. Gods, can you not take a jest?" he brayed.

"It's not a joke to me." She gritted out, swerving to avoid his wandering hands.

He turned away from her as if to clearly say: I don't give a damn what you think.

"Let's get out of here. There's no booze left-" Mulgrave slurred, "- and I think the brothers are on the warpath, Joff."

Sure enough Garlan and Willas were heading towards them with thunderous looks on their handsome faces.

"Joffrey, what are you doing here?" Willas said with a bluntness which verged on the rude.

He sulked, his lower lip pouting out like a spoilt child. "All I wanted was to see my betrothed, is there anything wrong with that?"

You could practically hear Willas grinding his teeth in an effort not to let rip about how offensive his group's behaviour was. Garlan laid a hand on his brother's arm, attempting to calm him down.

"-No, normally you would be more than welcome, but when you gate-crash our pleasant reception and cause nothing but disruption, you cannot expect us to be pleased?"

Mulgrave stuck his nose in, taking offence at Willas's rebuke. "Disruption? All we did is try and liven the place up a bit! Well, I like that, Tyrell! How rude!"

"Shut up, Mulgrave!" Joffrey snapped. "Go fondle some wench, will ye?"

"Steady on, you can't go round-" Leonette started to say, before Willas lost his temper and went for Joffrey.

"It's not that you're not welcome, Joffrey," said Garlan trying manfully to keep the peace even though he was still furious at the scene they were making. "You are soon to be a member of the family, after all. But perhaps you'd like to return here when you are sober and in a more presentable state. Isn't that right, Willas?"

Joffrey rankled at the rebuke, but the brothers would not bend, presenting a united front

"Goodnight, Lord Baratheon. Do try and sober up if you can, we have a session in Parliament and I'm sure you will be expected to attend." Garlan suggested.

"As if he ever even bothers to take up his seat!" muttered Willas with a glare, but Joffrey took no notice of his censure.

Joffrey didn't much like being told what to do. He shoved Garlan on his way to the door, followed by his cronies. "Bugger this, we'll go get blistered elsewhere, won't we lads?"

"Aye, let's go to Madame Bennett's! I warrant we'll get a warmer welcome there." Joffrey told his friends, petulant that he'd had to lose face to Margaery's male relatives who were glaring at his group in unwelcome fashion.

"A nice warm armful of one of their dancing girls will be just the ticket rather than that frigid rosebud you're leg-shackled to, eh?" Mulgrave jeered.

The group stormed out of the Tyrell residence causing just as much disruption as they did when they arrived. Willas winced at the sound of smashed crockery as one of Joffrey's friends knocked something over in the hallway.

"I'll go and see what they've wrecked." Leonette said wearily. "Let's hope it's not the Meissen vase, or Lady Alerie will be most upset."

* * *

"So that was?-" Sansa edged round the subject, not really sure of how to broach it.

"My fiancé, Joffrey Baratheon. Was it not so pleasant to meet him?" Margaery said this so bitterly Sansa couldn't blame her.

She doubted she would have ever got over the mortification of how he was acting in public. Had he been brought up by barn animals? It seemed impossible to believe that he could be related to the pretty and poised Lady Myrcella or Lady Cersei Lannister Baratheon.

"I'm so sorry-" Sansa patted her on the back as she buried her face in the back of the sofa, her shoulders heaving. "I know it's hard, but you mustn't let him get to you."

"He did this on purpose! Every single time, he does this! He knows it causes trouble and makes me angry, but he doesn't give a damn what I think!" she seethed.

"I really don't know what to tell you, Margaery, except for to say I'm sorry."

When she looked up at her, Margaery's eyes burned bright and baleful. "Not half as sorry as I am, Sansa."

Sansa couldn't blame Margaery. Now that she had seen her fiancé she could completely understand her melancholy. No wonder Margaery was so troubled. The thought of having been with that gorgeous looking Lord Renly, losing him because he was madly in love with someone else – her brother, no less! - and having to marry a boar like Joffrey instead would be enough to make her howl too.

* * *

**_I must see you tonight. In private. Can you arrange it, Maggie? R  
PS. Adore you as always! L sends love, but is keeping a low profile too_**

Margaery had received the note, hiding it in her bodice as soon as she had run her eyes over it.

_How could he be so reckless? _The king was still displeased with him and had in no way lifted the ban from court. Renly was risking so much to come into town. She knew why he was here and while she appreciated his gallantry and care for her, she despaired of his caution and sense.

"The gentleman and I wish to have utter privacy tonight. Is that understood?" she told the landlord of the inn where they were having their rendezvous. "'Tis a delicate situation and I'm sure I can count on your discretion. A man of the world like you?" she deliberately gave her most charming and sensual smile, the one she'd been told no man could resist.

The innkeeper tapped the side of his nose. "Say no more, milady. Not a soul will know he is here. The very soul of discretion, that's me-"

She slipped some gold into his palm. The landlord bit it and then pocketed the coin in delight.

_I must be the only woman at court to have to make a secret assignation with my own ex-husband! _thought Margaery dryly. _Lord, what a life!_

He took off his cloak and swept off his hat. Margaery couldn't help feeling much happier as soon as she saw his smile.

"I missed you." She rose to greet him, locking the door behind them. The meal had been set by the attentive landlord, and lay on the table protected by pewter covers. It smelled delicious and Margaery suspected Renly would appreciate the chance of a decent meal. He was looking thinner and more drawn. The problem of being banished from court and losing his title must be weighing on him sorely.

"As I have missed you, angel."

He swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly.

She relaxed for the first time in weeks, tension seeping out of her stiff tight shoulders.

He stroked her back, pressing a feather light kiss of affection to her temple.

"They still talk about you and speculate why the king banished you, you know." She confided, leaning into him with the comforting intimacy of married couples.

"Damn, I would have hoped the furore would have died down a little. Don't these people have anything else to prate about?"

"I suspect Cersei and her little coterie are keeping the flames fanned." She didn't tell him that she suspected they were sending poisonous exclusive little snippets to the gossip columnists that plied their trade in town and at court, making the scandal wilder and more lurid at each pass.

"You risked so much to come back. Aren't you afraid of being caught, Renly? Of being betrayed?"

"I have to clear my name somehow, yours and mine."

"Charles won't bend, not yet." She confided in him. "Not when Cersei is still around him."

He didn't look surprised although his brow furrowed in displeasure. "Might have known she was neck-deep in it!"

She smiled at him hoping to soothe him and not wanting to worry him further. "Come Renly, let's eat. You must be starving!"

"My family wants me to marry again." She mentioned over the succulent lamb fricassee the inn had provided. Renly ate heartily, mopping up the stew with the soft wheaten bread provided. "Father insisted unfortunately, he's already got me betrothed."

She didn't say that her father had threatened to disown her if she did not accept her new prestigious match despite her feelings about the matter. So far Joffrey had given her little cause for optimism.

"I'm not surprised. You always deserved far better than me." He sounded rather serious for him.

"Don't say that!" she protested. "You're the best friend a girl could have and you tried to be what I needed. That year and a half we had together was magical-"

Until I realised that you were desperately head over heels in love with my brother, dying inside without each other. I adore you, but I had to let you go, for all our sakes. I couldn't bear it if I lost you both.

"You're with Loras now, and you two are blissfully happy, aren't you?"

His face softened a little at the thought of his true love, her adored brother Loras. "Aye. I just wish that you could be happy too. You deserve it." His voice fell, deep and anguished as he held her gaze. "I'm sorry that I could not be what you needed, Maggie."

She dropped her gaze, her heart full of emotions she didn't want to face right now. If only…but what good does if only do?

"Who have they selected for you?"

Her shoulders slumped as they did whenever she thought of her new betrothed. "Joffrey Baratheon."

"Joffrey?" his voice was sharp, as he stopped eating. He turned to her in consternation. "They want you to marry Joff? Why?"

"My father is a frighteningly ambitious man. He couldn't resist a match with one of the greatest families in the country."

"Was there no one else? Anyone else? Anyone but him, i'faith!"

Renly looked so distressed at her fate, she sought to comfort him. Thank the Gods he doesn't know half of what Joffrey is capable of, or he'd do something fool-hardy and reckless like challenge him to a duel. That's the last thing we all need!

"He hopes to inherit your dukedom once Charles grants it to him. My family believe he'll be one of the richest and most important landowners in the country."

"I don't have much right to say it but I have to say I don't like it." She had rarely seen the easy-going Renly so adamant, so agitated. "Joffrey Baratheon is in no way suitable for any woman, let alone you, who ought to be treasured and adored. Please tell me he treats you like a queen, as you deserve?"

Margaery thought about being economical with the truth and telling him things were just fine between her and her new betrothed, but Renly knew her too well and was no fool. He would have seen through any subterfuge immediately.

"He has the upper hand in the relationship. He knows I need this match, and it's my last chance, so he takes advantage-" she admitted. "- I haven't slept with him yet, I'm holding him off, but he presses constantly. He has other women as well, whores and the like. He gambles and fights-"

His jaw quilted with outrage. His grip on the handle of his knife tightened. Margaery had no doubt that he would thrash Joffrey to ribbons, given half a chance. "That venal little bastard! I'll-"

"No, you shan't!" she said sharp as a lash. "You're not even meant to be in the country and you've taken such a risk to come see me."

"I had to. I had to clear our name." his jaw jutted out. "-and you can't tell me that nasty bastard Joffrey is treating you like dirt and expect me to be happy about it. He has no damned right!"

"Come Renly, love, use your intelligence." she cajoled him, trying to calm his fierce Baratheon temper.

Renly seemed a lot more easy-going than his uncompromising brothers Robert and Stannis, but he shared their maddening stubbornness at times and their flaring hot temper when roused. After all, weren't their family's words: Ours is the Fury?

"Father knows the Lannister territories share borders and are some of the richest and prosperous in the country. If the match goes through our descendants will own half of southern England."

"But, Joffrey…if he hurts you…" he grasped her hand, over the table. "I couldn't bear it if he hurts you."

"He won't." she said with a confidence she didn't feel. Joffrey had a cruel streak she couldn't help but fear. "He hasn't got your title yet, or come into his inheritance and Charles is dragging his feet. He detests being nagged by Cersei. Joff needs this match, almost more than I do, had he wit enough to know."

Renly's eyes narrowed in determination. "That he will never have, I swear by the gods. Over my dead body. I will regain what is mine and we shall be able to hold our heads up once more. I promise you."


	5. Chapter 5

"So did Lady Sansa agree to exchange letters with you?" Margaery asked, a gleam of interest in her eyes as she questioned her elder brother. "You did ask her, didn't ye?"

Willas had to laugh at just how inquisitive she was. _Gods, she was so like Loras sometimes in that respect, honey gold eyes bright as she scented the possibility of gossip and information. _

_A beautiful young heiress wealthy and exquisite would never waste her time with someone like you. Be sensible, man. _

"Well, you'll pardon me for saying it, but you both seemed very cosy at the musicale. Forgive me for bringing it up, Willas but you seem to really like each other."

It was difficult to be practical and realistic when Sansa was so friendly and kind to him, genuinely seeming to enjoy his company. He had the feeling it would be so easy to be friends with her. And gods help him he couldn't help but long for more._ Maybe one day she might see how much I like her…._

_Don't be a fool, Willas! Why would she ever want a cripple like me?_

"I asked her, yes-" he told her. "Now can we drop the subject, sister?"

Margaery beamed, undeterred by his frown. "Marvellous!"

* * *

"You're fretting, Willas. What could this be?" his sister said as she slipped into his room, and joined him at his fireplace a few days later. "Still up, brother?

_Margaery was far too perceptive for her own good, _Willas thought._ No keeping any secrets from her. Yet how could she know about his feelings for the fair northern heiress, when he wasn't even sure how he felt for her himself?_

"She's good and kind, she certainly won't turn away from you because of your knee-" Margaery said, resting her head on his shoulder. He found himself stroking her silky curls as she nuzzled affectionately against him.

He knew that she was talking sense and she cared about his happiness. But he couldn't help being a bit pessimistic about it inside.

_Sansa could have any man at court, so why would she waste the slightest shred of her regard on someone like me?_

He didn't realise he had spoken his thought out loud, until he heard the impatient tap of her foot on the floor, tap tap tap. He looked up to see her looking down her nose at him in formidable fashion.

"Now Willas, you sound like you're starting to feel sorry for yourself and that simply won't do." She said. "Why shouldn't she grow to like you for who you are?"

"What shall I do? How will I ever show her how much I care for her?"

"Woo her, get to know her. She likes you already." Margaery assured. "It's not as hopeless as you might think!"

_Gods, he dearly wished that it was true!_ "How can I woo her? I can't squire her about. I can't dance with her."

Margaery looked down her nose at him rather severely. He wondered whether he should just how much she looked like Grandmere Olenna when she did that and decided against it. "There's plenty of other things you can do, stop being such a wet blanket Willas!"

* * *

Feeling encouraged by his sister's pithy advice, Willas decided he was going to take his courage in his hands and chase the fate he wanted- a relationship with Sansa.

Willas decided that the best time to get to know Sansa was the present, seeing as he was going to be leaving London by the end of the month. Normally he would have been glad to get back to the peaceful environs of Highgarden, which would be at its most beautiful at this time of year but strangely enough he felt reluctant to leave town and miss spending time with her.

_I never liked a girl so much, I've never allowed myself to like a girl so much._

Sansa had got under his skin. He couldn't stop thinking about her, wanting to talk to her and spend time with her. Gods, he enjoyed her company more than anything, he just felt so comfortable round her.

She would look at him with those big blue eyes full of compassion and understanding. That gentle shy smile…

_If only I could know for true whether she really likes me as much as I'm starting to like her!_

* * *

Garlan had offered to escort them to Chatelin's , the very latest in French dining. Seats were in very short supply there, you had to book in advance and even then many of the great and good failed to get entry. Sansa was all ahop with excitement, fussing whether she should wear her dusky pink silk with the petticoat, thickly embroidered with roses and cream and gold ribbons.

Jeyne was pea-green with envy but she managed to put a stoic face on it and made Sansa promise she would report back from the restaurant in minute detail so her best friend could relive every vicarious moment.

"It'll be like I'm right there beside you! How I wish I could go and see all the throng, they say all the dukes and great ladies of court go there to dine." She said wistfully as she finished her mistress's toilette. "There, you look magnificent, Sansa!"

"One day you shall go with me, I promise!" Sansa squeezed her hand and gave her a smile. "Thank you, Jeyne, I really appreciate it!"

* * *

At Chatelin's

Sansa and Margaery met outside and were escorted inside by the sophisticated and professional wait staff. It took quite a while to get to their reserved table, as a host of people kept cropping up, introducing themselves and near enough making Sansa's head spin. She really was not used to the social whirl! But Margaery moved through the throng, charming them as she went.

_She's born to this, isn't she? So confident and dazzling in her beauty and wit, greeting everyone and making them feel valued and welcome. She would have made such a wonderful duchess!_

"There's Mary Villiers, Duchess of Richmond and her party across the room." Leonette said. "I do hope they don't spot us, as she's with her brother George."

He was tall, floridly handsome with a pale blond periwig, clothes which were far more ornate and fashion-plate than anything she had seen the king or the royal dukes wear.

"I haven't met him, at least I don't remember it." Sansa said, looking warily at the man. "They say he's very grand, the wealthiest man in the kingdom and he was brought up with the king and his brother as one of their own."

Leonette took on a rather severe mien. She sniffed disapprovingly, eyeing the duke most distrustfully. "You don't want to, Lady Sansa. No, don't look, we know each other well from the palace, so I'll be obliged to stop and chat if they see us. Mary will be most offended if she thinks we're giving her the cut direct!"

Margaery steered them to the table, passing the Villiers party swiftly as if she would love nothing better than to avoid them.

The duke was holding forth at great volume at his table, enjoying the audience in front of him. Barbara sat at his side, laughing uproariously at his impression and shouting out for more favourites.

"Do Clarendon again! And the Queen!

He was doing cruelly accurate imitations of well-known members of the royal household, first Anne Hyde's enthusiastic, slightly bossy tones, Charles's smooth deep tones and lazy drawl, and then Rupert's brusque barely polite statements, his faintly Teutonic accent and abrupt body language.

He seemed to take on the characteristics of the target in question, using their voice and their physical mannerisms to bring them to vivid life. Sansa couldn't help but see him as more than a little untrustworthy. _He would be a fantastic and gifted natural actor; he has a knack for mimicry and becoming someone else. But how could you trust such a man?_

He looked up at her, and fixed her in the intense beam of his vision. A smile spread across his ruddily handsome face, and his eyes travelled over her. Sansa felt hot with embarrassment under his frank scrutiny.

Barbara noticed too and a wicked smile spread over her face. "New targets, George! Lady Stark and Margaery Baratheon Tyrell, joined at the hip as always!"

Margaery noticed their stare and cursed under her breath. "Damn, I was hoping we'd get away with it!"

"Time to run the gauntlet, I fear." Leonette murmured. "Hope you're up to it! Very well, we might as well get it over and done with."

Margaery did not look impressed. "Ah well, if we must do this, let it be with grace."

* * *

The duke was in front of them, blocking their path and demanding acknowledgement. His genial smile failed to meet his eyes, which roamed over them both like a bold lascivious caress taking in their pretty and fashionable dresses. He made Sansa's skin crawl if she was honest.

"Lady Baratheon, what a pleasure-" he said, bending over her hand.

Margaery did not look amused by his greeting, finely calculated to bait her. "Lady Tyrell now, if you please." She whipped her hand away as soon as was polite and tossed her ringlets defiantly, daring him to try and jibe her once more. Her eyes narrowed in anticipation of conflict. Sansa sensed that her companion did not like this man in the slightest._ I wonder what's behind her antagonism, _she thought.

"Ah yes, I had forgotten you'd bailed on the unfortunate Lord Renly just before his disgrace. Clever of you to distance yourself before his banishment, that kind of scandal does tend to stick, my sweet." He insinuated, a gleam of sheer trouble-making malice in his eye. "A charming, genial boy, and fair enough to make the ladies swoon, but really not so smart, was he?"

Margaery gritted her teeth, but said nothing, keen not to give Villiers any more ammunition.

Sansa prayed that he would not direct the cruel bright beam of his attention to her. _Please let me go unnoticed,_ she begged silently.

No such luck, not with Lady Castlemaine's eager and malicious gaze. She was enjoying every minute of this.

"And this, George, is Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Everyone made such a fuss of her and her little sister when they made their debuts."

George gave her an appraising glance while Leonette practically tugged her away, eager to get away from the Villiers party.

"Come we really must hurry, or we'll miss our table! Goodbye, your Grace!"

Barbara looked disappointed that Sansa had escaped being the target of George's wit, but he merely inclined his head retreating for the moment. Sansa could feel his stare as she walked away like a brand on the back of her neck.

"You were very cold towards him, even though you know each other. And you didn't seem to like Lord Villiers very much. Is there some story behind that?"

Leonette looked serious as they got to their table. her gaze flicked back towards their table, where the duke was still staring at her, a speculative look on his face. "That one is bad news, Sansa. Keep away from him."

* * *

At Madam Bennet's

"I am his eldest son! It should be me who is heir, not that old Catholic stick in the mud James-"

James, Duke of Monmouth ranted as he drank with his friends, getting more sour at the prospect of his future, which to him seemed very bleak. Never mind that practically every other young man in the country would have killed for the opportunities his indulgent father lavished on his boy. James Scott, Duke of Monmouth still remained petulant and unsatisfied with his lot.

"His Majesty is hedging his bets. He's waiting to see what happens before declaring for you, that's all. Joffrey suggested, sprawled out next to him on the banquette, his fine lawn shirt open to the waist and his prized blond periwig off revealing golden curls no less gilded and dazzling. He was idly groping one of Madam Bennett's dancing girls who squirmed uncomfortably on his lap, suffering his rough caresses.

"He's taking his damned sweet time about it, then?"

"I heard tell of a marriage licence." Joffrey prompted, stoking Jemmy's discontent.

Monmouth, easily led as ever took the bait. "A licence between the King and Lucy Walter, my mother. She was his secret wife and I am his true born heir!"

"But why would he deny you?" Joffrey sloshed some more drink into his goblet. "You have to admit 'tis most puzzling?"

"Heaven knows! He has Uncle James and Uncle Rupert whispering their disapproval in his ears daily. He listens to what they say. That old curmudgeon never trusted me."

"Why?"

Monmouth's lip curled. "He doesn't think I'm worthy. I've heard him say in private that he thinks I'm stupid."

Well you are dim, there's no denying that, but that's besides the point, Joffrey thought to himself.

Monmouth was still grumbling, venting his resentment. "Just because I'm not the great paragon he was! Soldier, inventor, scientist and artist! He actually likes Dismal Jimmy!"

"Well, they are of an age!" Joffrey's smile was sly and ruthless, as he whipped up Jemmy's discontent.

_How he loved to see him seethe!_

As his half-sister Myrcella sought to soothe the young duke and smooth his path at court and with his father, Joffrey constantly worked behind her back, stinging him into folly and defiance. Jemmy was weak at heart and easily led._ He needs someone besides him like me. Someone with brains and ambition!_

Left to his own devices, Jemmy would float through life if I wasn't there to whip him into shape, content to coast on his royal father's favour and his own dark angelic looks._ He trusts me; I am as a brother to him, thanks to Mother and Myrcella._

"They are old men and their time is done. Why should they dictate to us?"

Jemmy nodded, starting to be swayed to Joffrey's counsel. "Uncle Rupert is practically a relic of the civil war. He's a foreigner at heart. Why should he dictate to my father what my worth is?" he said.

Joffrey couldn't help but be amused by how readily Jemmy turned on his uncle.

_Ungrateful git, isn't he? _He thought, with some secret amusement.

Prince Rupert tried to be good to Jemmy, encouraging him to use his talents and take an interest in the military side of things, and make his name that way. But he was a tough taskmaster, brought up in a hard school of war since childhood, and he demanded far more than the naturally indolent Jemmy was prepared to give.

There was a ruthless glint in Joffrey's green eyes as he bent the other young man to his will. "You're right Jemmy, it's our time now."

* * *

Charles was in his private apartments, relaxing with his cousin.

"Come, Rupe, sit with me. At ease-" He took off his heavy black periwig, letting the cool air reach his scalp.

"Ah, blasted things are a demmed nuisance. 'Tis a relief to have it off my head." He ran his hand over his cropped head and sighed.

Rupert gave his royal cousin a perceptive glance. He knew well enough to know that behind his light manner Charles was troubled about something and would welcome a chance to confide in someone discreet, someone sensible that he could implicitly trust. "Something is troubling you, Charles?"

Charles heaved a sigh and stretched out his long legs. "It's that obvious, is it? I was thinking of Jemmy actually."

Rupert might have known the brat would have something to do with it. _Charles was far too indulgent with the lad, allowing him every liberty. No wonder the boy was developing a swollen head._ He could have done with some discipline and he itched to be the man to do it, but he knew Charles wouldn't dream of allowing him to take Jemmy in hand.

"What's he done now?"

"Would you credit it but he's got the cheek to be dallying with my Barbara? She tried to seduce him and the pup was too much of a damned fool to say nay. Got the report from Lord Varys and his Spyders-"

Rupert's mouth tightened with disapproval. He'd never liked that woman and the hold she'd had over his cousin._ Barbara Villiers Palmer was a horrendous woman, admittedly fine-looking in her voluptuous ripe way and apparently she fucked like a stoat, but such an intriguing mean-spirited bitch he would rather have stuck his cock in a rat-trap than slept with her. Charles was either very brave or very foolhardy to risk it all these years._

"There's worse."

_How exactly could it be __**worse?**_thought Rupert.

"He's engaged in all sorts of debauchery. The reports from the Spyder are mounting up and can't be ignored any more. Lad's out of control."

Whatever he personally thought of Lord Varys and his rather unsavoury methods of information gathering Rupert had to admit the man was superlatively good at his job, even if he was creepy.

"If it had been just a few females I could have turned a blind eye. He's a young lad; they've all got to sow some wild oats. We certainly did in our days, although you were always very discreet with yours!"

"'Tisn't anyone else's business but mine and the lady's. Never seem the sense in bragging about your conquests-"

"The trouble is he forces 'em and that ain't right. Whatever debauchery we got up to in our day, 'twas with the maid's consent." Charles shook his head. "What his set get up to is not right. Joffrey Baratheon is neck deep in it as well."

"Forces them?" Rupert put his tumbler of whisky down in alarm.

"Aye, there's been a few incidents...I've had to step in and smooth things over." Charles admitted.

"Haven't you tried to talk to Cersei?" he disliked that one almost as much as Barbara._ Charles did have terrible taste in females sometimes! Cersei was exquisitely beautiful but a stone-cold bitch, corrupt and wicked with it too._

He'd never trusted her, although he'd tried hard to give her the benefit of the doubt, wondering whether his dislike of the woman stemmed from Robert's rather dismissive and negative opinion of his wife, or whether he should trust his instinct and there was something in his suspicions. Robert had married her for money and status but never loved her, his heart being given to the bold and brilliant Lyanna Stark.

_How we all adored Lyanna, that glorious summer of '44 …_

"You know what she's like. She thinks the sun shines out of his backside. Y'know Myrcella and Tommen are such ducks, I really don't know how Joffrey turned out such a bad 'un. Baratheon blood rather than Stuart, I suppose."

Rupert was horrified by what his cousin had just told him. _How could he allow his son to carry on doing this and merely cover it up? Sweep it all under the rug as if it never happened? You__** must **__do something, Charles! You're just enabling him if you don't!_

"Jemmy's got it into his head that you married his mother, you know-" Rupert said. He knew better than to outright ask him, Charles was easy-going about most things but he was known to be remarkably touchy about this subject.

Rupert suspected that he didn't wish to be reminded of a rash and foolish youthful mistake when he'd been obsessed with Lucy Walter.

"What ever happened between his mother and I, the fact of the matter is that I never married her and he is in no way suitable to be my heir. You complain about James daily-"

"James is a fanatic."

"James has a very strong faith!" Charles protested. "I can hardly condemn him for't!"

Rupert's mouth set in a disapproving line. Looking down his nose, he was the very picture of reproof. "A faith which is disapproved of by most of your people, I'd like to add."

Charles broke into a grin, not taking Rupert seriously. "You're giving me that Calvinist look again, Cousin Rupe."

_Aye, and I dearly wish you would take it seriously once in a while instead of regarding it as a joke._ Rupert wanted to say, but he knew the value of tact and forebode to say it.

"Anyway, Jemmy isn't cut out for the throne. We all know it." Charles grumbled.

_Yes, but does he know it? _Rupert thought a bit pessimistically. _That is the question?_

"I have given him everything his heart desires. Riches and titles beyond the dreams of any young noble of my court. What more can he want?"


	6. Chapter 6

Houses of Parliament

Charles's session in Parliament was a lot more eventful than he had wanted. Buckingham had delighted in being argumentative and causing trouble and strife; right now he was harping on about the queen's unfortunate inability to produce an heir to secure the throne. His old friend's inflammatory speech was not making things anything easier.

"It is not that Catherine is not a delightful woman in her own right-" he said, smirking away while his cronies and opponents all cheered or jeered noisily from the back benches. "-but we must think of the future of the crown so recently restored. A Queen incapable of producing an heir is nothing but a liability-"

Charles's face was stony, but George forged on with his usual lack of tact. James and Rupert both started to rise angrily from their seats to dress down the impertinent duke, but Charles made a sharp gesture to quell them. Reluctantly they sat back down, glaring at Buckingham.

"So far she has failed to carry to term. Can anyone deny it?"

"How dare you!" Lord Arryn was up on his feet, challenging the duke. "Lord Buckingham, I must ask that you refrain from bringing such crass speculation into our chambers-"

"This is a constitutional matter and as such more than meet for us to discuss, my lords." Buckingham shouted him down to noisy cheers and barracking from all corners of the house. "Does not the succession and the welfare of the royal family concern us all, Lord Arryn?"

Charles blinked at Buckingham's bluntness and the sly way he had manipulated the house to get his issue aired. He must be very confident about getting his way. To think that once I thought of this man like a brother…

"There is still time, gentlemen." He said easily, concealing his anger and irritation at Buckingham's ploy. "Catherine de Medici waited ten years to produce an heir and then had five children, three of which ascended to the throne of France-"

"And look how they turned out!" muttered one member of Parliament, but no one heard his comment.

"Well, we know it's not due to his Majesty." One wag remarked to frowns from Charles and his royal party.

Rupert was scanning the benches to see if he could find the scoundrel to no avail. "What? Where's the damned scoundrel who dared say that!" he frowned at all of them, rather as if he were a stern schoolmaster about to thrash an entire classroom of rebellious pupils.

"With all due respect you have already produced several healthy children out of wedlock. James, Duke of Monmouth is your eldest, the Lady Myrcella Baratheon-Stuart and her little brother Tommen Baratheon-Stuart. And let's not forget Barbara's brood, of which there are several." Buckingham hastily said, spotting Rupert's ire.

"Doesn't she pop out one a year? I swear that woman is always up the duff." said Lord Lauderdale in his broad Scotch brogue, as forthright and tactless as ever. "Ain't this her third or fourth in as many years?"

" -Indeed, it is a crying shame that the Queen has not managed to be as fruitful." Buckingham was saying smugly, sounding very certain of his triumph. "But then we Villiers are of fruitful stock."

"I have to say none of this sounds morally right. Catherine is a good queen; she is kind, virtuous and knows her duty. Those that know her well love her for her kindness and her virtues. We could not have a better Queen." James, Duke of York protested, eager to defend his good-sister.

"- and what about the absolute fortune she brought to the marriage? That can't be so easily dismissed." Prince Rupert added.

"If she does the right thing, allows you an annulment and retires to a discreet convent, maybe on the Continent we wouldn't have to return a bean." Buckingham smirked. "That would certainly please the treasury then maybe you could find a young lady of elevated blood and birth to be your next queen. One who is capable of bearing your child, your Majesty?"

"A woman like Barbara who is - I hasten to remind the house- is already married and in no way suitable?" Lord Arryn fired back. "Have we forgotten that she is still legally wed to Roger Palmer?"

"Look you, my lords how this family will stop at nothing to aggrandise themselves at the country's expense! Does the Villiers's ambition know no earthly bounds?" Lord Danby waded in, eager to berate his opponents. "- and now they dare to speak against our Queen and make the worst of insinuations!"

"This entire conversation is in the very worst of taste and could be seen as positively treasonous, George-" James said, frowning fiercely at the duke. "-as always, you Villiers always go too far!"

Rupert beside him glowered forbiddingly at the duke, as if he would like nothing better than to horsewhip him, the tension clearly visible in the line of his big imposing body. James's arm was clearly restraining him from rising and physically striking Buckingham for his verbal attack on his cousin and his wife.

"I will not have this talk, sers, do you hear? Catherine is my wife and my queen. I will have her treated with respect!" Charles rose to his full height, staring George Villiers down as if to intimidate him.

Buckingham blanched, realising belatedly that his attacks on Catherine had gone too far. Charles may cheat on his wife without a qualm with every and any toothsome filly that crossed his path, but he had grown surprisingly fond of his Portuguese queen.

"There will be no more talk of annulments or convents, am I making myself clear?" it was rare that Charles raised his voice in anger, so the lords took notice when he did.

"Aye, Sire" the lords muttered, sensing a change in the wind.

"Is there any other business?"

The lords fell silent, cowed by Charles's show of anger.

"In that case if there is nothing else for you all to prate about, other than my poor queen and my marriage, then I suggest this session be adjourned immediately. Come Jamie, Rupert, I tire of this insolence." He practically stormed out of the chamber, flanked by James, Duke of York and Prince Rupert, a most formidable entourage.

George watched them leave, a calculating look on his face as the arguments of the members of the House raged around him. He almost seemed to smile at the chaos he had wrought.

* * *

"Did you really have to push the issue, George?" Lord Arlington suggested. His Whig cronies were burbling and muttering, wondering how to regroup in the face of the king's displeasure at their ploy. Perhaps it had not been the wisest tactic to get Lord Buckingham to speak for them, he never knew when he had taken it too far and must needs stop.

"I fear you may have gone too far and driven him to the opposite position-" Lord Shaftesbury observed. "Charles may appear indolent and easy-going but he can be as stubborn as his sainted father when he so wishes."

Buckingham was unabashed, grown cocky with his defiance. "Losing your nerve, Tony?"

"His Majesty will not tolerate this subject being raised in session again. His ministers were steaming." Lord Clifford fretted. "I very much fear we miscalculated the mood of the House."

"I thought Lord Arryn would burst a blood-vessel, he was so outraged at your suggestion and as for the Prince Palatinate… well George, it's just as well Dismal Jim was holding him back! Rupert looked like he would have thrashed you to within an inch of your hide-"

Buckingham laughed, his lip curling in scorn. "I'm not afraid of the 'Robber Prince', are you?"

"I think you're the only man at Court who isn't. Rupert's still a formidable man and loyal to his Majesty." Clifford said, with an anxious glance over his shoulder, as if he expected the prince to loom up behind them. "I sincerely you know what you're about, George?"

Buckingham was unperturbed by the misgivings of his friends. "Just because Charles doesn't want to think about it, doesn't mean the issue is going to go away, my lords. I'm just giving matters a little push, what's wrong with that?"

* * *

Lord Anthony Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury was not contented with George's statement to his group. Driven by curiosity, he decided to do some digging for himself.

What would make him so confident about raising the issue right now? Does he have a candidate already lined up to replace Catherine in the King's affections? That would make the situation a lot more intriguing and also a lot more dangerous. But why else would Buckingham take such a risk to attack the King and Queen?

He sincerely hoped he wasn't doing this on his cousin's behalf. Barbara was notorious for her disregard of her husband Roger and her marital obligations. The public would not accept her as their future queen consort, even if she had proved her fertility over and over. During the Bawdy House Riots, the apprentices had even dared to attack her personally, accosting her on her way to her apartments at Whitehall. They called her all manner of names, blaming her for leading Charles into deeper debauchery.

Her arrogance and profligacy was legendary. As Charles's mistress she demanded much in the way of financial compensation and privileges, and Charles as easy-going and genial as he was to his women funnelled extravagant sums of money her way to the dismay of his ministers. Her own suite of rooms at Hampton Court Palace was decorated in lush luxury as was her town house in King Street. She demanded and got her lucrative position as chief lady-in-waiting to his own wife, an audacious move which was the scandal of Europe.

Catherine tried to object, warned about this dazzling rapacious rival but Charles put his foot down on his mistress's behalf and poor Catherine had to back down or face being an outcast in her own court. The queen put a brave face on it, and tried to be civil and polite through gritted teeth, but how long could she do so?

_Buckingham must know Barbara was unpopular, so what was he up to? Was he backing another horse and if so, who?_

"You're being remarkably bullish about this, have you another lass lined up to warm the royal bed?" asked Anthony, when he caught up with Lord Buckingham.

He didn't much like the smug, plotting gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps I have, but it's early days yet."

"Who?" his brows drew together.

The scheming gleam in Buckingham's eye grew brighter. He was enjoying all this intrigue and plotting far too much._ He lived for spreading discord and disharmony._

How did Charles tolerate his treachery for all these years? Why did Charles forgive him? People still remembered that he had abandoned Charles's cause during the Interregnum and married General Fairfax's daughter, throwing his lot in with his childhood friend's enemies.

He'd wheedled his way back into the inner circle on the return of the king, claiming that it was only out of necessity and he had never truly meant it. Charles had let bygones be bygones, but few trusted the Duke.

"Were you at court the day the Stark girls were presented?" he remarked, a sly gleam in his eye.

"Lady Sansa and Lady Arya?" asked Lord Shaftesbury in surprise. "Of course I was! Pretty lasses, both of them. I imagine 'Honest Ned' would have been proud of his girls."

"His Majesty was very taken with the eldest one. The delectable redhead. Lady Sansa."

"Aye, what about her?"

"Well, I was having a very interesting conversation with Petyr Baelish, you know how well-informed he is. He gave me a lot of information which proved very useful. Had a good look at her when we were at Chatelin's with Mall...the girl certainly has promise."

Tony didn't like this. _That snake in the grass! If those two had put their heads together, frankly it did not bode well. George was scheming enough without being encouraged into more folly._

"It made me think about how a clever man could capitalise on this and make the girl's fortune." His smile lengthened wickedly at the corners, a true plotter's smile. "You could really call me her benefactor, could you not?

Privately Tony doubted that George was doing Sansa a good turn."Her? She's your choice?" Lord Anthony said, with a frown of surprise. "Does the lady even know you are scheming on her behalf?"

"Not as yet, although I cannot see her refusing such a call to glory. She's not a fool, Tony, she'll know how her bread is buttered."

He sincerely doubted it. From what he had seen of the young girl she appeared eager to please and demure. Not the ambitious type, although one could ne'er tell with these young girls. He trusted his instinct though, and what he had heard and known of her parents. He couldn't imagine a child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully's stock scheming and intriguing to get a throne. That just rang false!

"The king was most taken with her and she was with him. He said, and I quote him verbatim: She must be the most exquisite girl he'd ever seen in his life. She blushed and stared at him as if he was a god stepped down from Olympus. There was no denying the chemistry between them."

"I don't know about this, George. I think you should leave well enough alone." He felt impelled to caution. Sansa Stark was a good girl, a virtuous girl, and utterly unsuited to his schemes.

Villiers was too enthusiastic about his rash plot to heed his friend's warning. "Think Tony! Sansa is Lady Catelyn Tully's daughter. Just think: beautiful, well-born and wealthy, and most importantly, fertile. Get her into the king's bed and she'll bear an heir. A legitimate heir, a proper heir-"

"You play dangerous games, George. Some would call what you've just said to be treason."

Villiers looked him straight in the eye, the ruthless glint giving Shaftesbury pause. Villiers was as deadly serious about this as he had ever seen him. "I think we can be frank, men of the world such as we?"

Shaftesbury heard the implied threat and the sly way he had managed to implicate him in his labyrinthine plots.

"We must risk it, at the moment we have a choice between James, Duke of York who would be an absolute disaster for the kingdom, or Monmouth who was born on the wrong side of the blanket and has as much sense in his head as a pea."

"No one would ever accept Monmouth as heir." demurred Lord Shaftesbury, trying to justify his change of stance to himself. "-and I suppose needs must in desperate times, Villiers. But it all seems rather underhand."

"These are high stakes we play for but the prize would be dazzling." George urged. "And if we have to break a few rules, and hazard a few games of chance, 'tis surely worth the risk, isn't it Tony?"

Shaftesbury knew that his friend enjoyed nothing better than breaking some rules, setting the world alight and watching it burn for the sheer hell of it. But this was a treacherous dangerous game, and Lady Sansa had no idea of the trouble Lord Villiers intended to cast her way.

_Poor innocent girl! No one ever warned you about snakes like him!_

"Everything could fall apart if Charles doesn't produce a legitimate heir. We must be ready when the time comes to put a decent candidate in place. Trust me, Tony. Lady Stark is by far the best candidate. You'll thank me once things come to fruition, you mark my words."


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa, Jeyne and Margaery were heading back into the city from the palace to replenish their clothing, before the Court moved to St James's Palace, and then onto to Hampton Court. Many of the other ladies-in- waiting had the same idea and there was a fair group of them gathered at the palace's landing stage all waiting for barges to speed them back into town.

Such a large entourage needed to be on the move fairly regularly, otherwise the surrounding areas would swiftly become depleted, and the staff would not have time to tidy up after all the guests and hangers-on that congregated round the Royal places hoping for patronage and preferment. It was rather like living in a travelling circus sometimes. Sansa wondered how her mother managed during her years at the old king's court when it had moved to Oxford.

"So when d'ye think the next barge will be along? 'Tis rather warm out here?" Margaery said from under the great cartwheel of her straw hat, which was gaily festooned with ribbons. She looked so fresh and pretty in her cool sprigged cotton dress, her curls piled up underneath her hat. "I do hope one comes along soon. We're going to be hard-pressed to get everything ready. I don't know about you, but my wardrobe is in definite need of a refresh!"

_Mine too!,_ thought Sansa. She hadn't quite realised just how much effort went into keeping up a fashionable appearance at court. Margaery made it look so effortless, but she and Jeyne had quite a steep learning curve to master in their first days at Whitehall.

"I have no idea, I was hoping to get one back with Robb, but he was busy at the palace with Uncle Jon. This valise is heavy!" she said

"How's Arya doing with Lady Myrcella?" Margaery asked.

After the awkward confrontation between her younger sister and the royal mistresses, Sansa had worried that Arya would not get a position at all, but Anne Hyde had come through for her sister and managed to get her into Myrcella's entourage. She seemed to be settling in well, although now they were posted with different grand ladies they often missed each other.

"Not bad. Lady Myrcella is good to her, and she seems to be making friends." Jeyne hastened to say.

"Did I not tell you she would land on her feet?" Margaery told her. "She's a resourceful lass and quick-witted with it. Arya will be fine, though I understand why you fret. Terrible luck to fall out with those two, but it turned out for the best did it not?"

_At least she doesn't have to contend with the likes of Anna-Maria Brudenell and Arabella Dalgleish, who constantly wait for me to make a mistake so they can mock me. _Sansa thought.

A magnificent barge pulled up and moored, while the girls were waiting. Sansa, Jeyne and Margaery looked at each other unsurely, wondering who the occupant could be, when a dark head poked out of the dark purple and scarlet drapes with a winning smile.

"Oh my, It's his Majesty! Sansa, look!" Jeyne said in awe.

Sansa sunk into a curtsy and as soon as she saw their new guest. Margaery and Jeyne did likewise. All round the landing stage, people paid their respects to the king as they recognised him.

Sansa marvelled that the king was so free and easy with his person, so surprisingly down to earth. He loved to walk round the palace and St James's Park talking to all and sundry, surrounded by his pack of spaniels, and a bevy of courtiers in his train, striving and struggling to keep up with his long energetic stride. He would stop and talk to anyone who had the fortune to cross his path.

"A health unto his Majesty!" went up the cries from the courtiers. "God bless King Charles!"

Charles graciously acknowledged their greetings and tributes, pressing hands and smiling as he went. It must have been very gratifying for a man who a few short years ago had been forced to flee his own realm with a price on his head, and little hope of regaining the throne his father had lost. Now people fell over themselves to do homage to him.

Sansa nudged her friend. "He's coming towards us! Look, Margaery!"

Jeyne was trembling with excitement, at the thought of actually interacting with the king.

"Your Majesty!" they echoed respectfully as he approached and doffed his hat.

"Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa, what a pleasure! Are ye waiting for a barge into town?" he asked, eager to put the girls at their ease. The rowers pulled up and secured the barge, taking a break in the heat.

"Aye, my lord. We must get ready for the move to St James's." _Oh God help her, she was acting like a giddy fool around him, and there was no excuse for it!_ His attention, the warm flirty gleam in his eye was like a jolt to the nerves. He was definitely flirting, there was no mistaking it!

"Where are you headed?"

"I need to get some new clothes from home, and then I promised to go to supper with Lady Arryn and her son." Sansa told him. "They have a house near the palace at Kew. Lady Margaery and I are waiting for a barge to take us down the river, Sire."

"We've plenty of room in here. 'Tis no trouble at all!" he gestured for them to join him on the barge.

The girls looked at each other, aware of the very great honour of a ride on the royal barge. "But Sire, we could not possibly-" Sansa started to say.

"Nonsense, 'tis no trouble at all! I won't take no for an answer, ladies. Please, some feminine company would be just the thing!"

The other ladies-in-waiting would be besides themselves with jealousy. Sansa almost wanted to bask in the envious looks on Bella Dalgleish and Betty Felton's faces. Betty was shamelessly craning her neck and bouncing on the soles of her cork-soled pattens to get a better view so she could report every last syllable to the rest of the girls.

_This is probably going to be the talk of St James's Palace by nightfall, knowing her! _

Sansa didn't know quite know how she felt about that. She was very aware of the newness of her position and to be singled by the great and good made her a bit nervous.

"Come Rupe, give us a hand with these valises of theirs, I doubt the ladies will manage by themselves!" he called to the other occupant of the barge.

A tall man with the dark hair of the Stuarts and rather severe handsome features like a marble classical statue, climbed out of the barge, unfolding his long powerful limbs. He bowed slightly brusquely to the ladies, and then lifted the cases into the back of the barge as if they weighed nothing.

Sansa couldn't help but be impressed and awed by the stranger. _He was as tall as a giant, taller than the king! No wonder the barge was so big and required half a dozen men to ply the oars; it needed to be, to carry three men of such lofty stature with ease._ She spotted James Duke of York inside the drapes, wine glass in hand, and taking his ease.

"I'll help you into the barge, it can be a mite tricky from this stage, and it would be terrible if you were to slip. Hold onto me."

The king helped her into the barge, his large capable hands round her waist. Sansa clung to him, afraid she was going to slip and fall into the water in front of all these people._ How mortifying that would be! _

"It's fine, my lady Sansa, I've got you-" he murmured close to her ear, reassuring her. She was distracted by the warmth and nearness of his body against hers. That frisson, that thrill she had felt the first day they had met, it was still there. She didn't know quite what to think about it.

"This is magnificent!" breathed Jeyne, looking round her in awe. "The Royal Barge!"

"More of my family for you to meet, my lady Sansa. This is my brother James, I believe you work for his wife." The duke raised his glass in greeting, eyeing the girls appreciatively. He was as tall as his brother, less dark and with more regular, more classically handsome looks. He did not however have the charisma and good humour which drew you to the king. Sansa bobbed him a curtsy, keeping a polite distance as she remembered his tendency for wandering hands which she'd been warned about.

"This is Cousin Rupert, I got him to play hooky from the Admiralty Office today." He gave her a bit of a wink before becoming more serious. "Rupert, this is someone I'm sure you'll be glad to meet. This is Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, newly come to court."

"Ned's lass?" he looked at her intently, his great dark eyes searching her face.

"My father spoke of you, your Highness." Sansa said hesitantly, awed by being in the presence of one of her father's comrades and a great hero of the war. Robb and Theon practically idolised this man, even Arya avidly followed his brilliant military career with admiration. "He said you were a great man and a fine warrior; that it was an honour to fight at your side."

"As it was an honour to fight with Ned. All the Starks were brave and loyal to me when I most needed it, Brandon, Ned and Benjen and Lyanna-"

"Did you know my aunt?" Sansa asked with a shy glance upward at this great man. "It's just that my father never really mentioned her at home. My mother said it was too painful for him to go back and relive those times."

The prince sighed deep, the lines of his face sad and brooding. "In some ways, I blame myself for what happened. I was the commanding officer, I should have stepped in and stopped the conflict between Robert and Rhaegar, before it turned disastrous. By the time I realised the severity of the situation, it was too late."

"You sound as if you were fond of her." Sansa said with a tentative smile of compassion.

"I admit I didn't approve of her following the regiment at first. Women are mostly a distraction on the field and war's a nasty business, but the lass was a plucky one and she pulled her weight remarkably. She was a tremendous rider, a fabulous shot, one of the best in the regiment if I'm honest and she ne'er complained about conditions. I grew to like her and her brothers a great deal." He fell silent for a moment, evidently thinking about those troubled long-gone time. "Her end was not a good one, Lady Sansa. I don't know if I can ever truly forgive Rhaegar for what he did to her. A sad business, indeed."

"I'm sorry to have reminded of such a sad time, your Highness."

Actually, it was your sister that reminded me of it, strangely enough." he mused.

Sansa was very surprised by that. "My sister? You met Arya?"

The Prince broke in a fond smile. "Aye, I am somewhat of an uncle to Lady Myrcella, and Lady Arya has recently joined her entourage, has she not? It was like looking at a ghost, but I rather enjoyed meeting her. A very interesting girl, indeed. She has so much potential, as long as it is not stifled trying to make her something she is not. You understand?"

* * *

When Margaery was introduced to Prince Rupert, there was a definite frisson between them. She stared up at his impressive figure with admiration, as he bent over her hand in a courtly fashion.

"My lady, 'tis a pleasure."

Margaery sank into another curtsy, whipping off her cartwheel of a hat and swiftly fussing with her curls. "Your Highness, 'tis an honour to meet you." She murmured respectfully, eyeing him with unabashed interest from under her lashes. She raised one fair white hand for him to take.

His dark eyes looked right into hers as he clasped her hand. She met his gaze, thinking that though his face was saturnine and stern, the lines on his face making him look older than he was, the prince had the most beautiful brown eyes. "Are you the girl who used to be a duchess? Lady Baratheon-" he asked, frowning a little as if trying to work out where he knew her from.

The smile froze on her face. She whipped her hand away from his, her curls bristling with offence. Her cheeks flared, ignoring the warmth and tingle from the press of his hand.

"'Tis Lady Tyrell now, your Grace." she said in her iciest tone of voice._ How could he remind her of her disgrace? When she was so raw about it? Why did she even care what the hell he thought anyway? Why did she want to prove to him that she was not some silly little girl to be mocked?_ "If you will excuse me, your Grace?"

Rupert blinked a little, surprised by her sudden hauteur. "My lady, you seem vexed. What did I say?"

James looked amused by his unwitting blunder. "You've really gone and done it now, Rupe!" he murmured to his cousin.

Charles noticed the drop in temperature, the tension in the air and hastened to smooth things over. "Drop of wine, anyone?"

James was amused by the discomfiture, of both parties. "Think Rupert put his foot in it with the Lady Margaery. Don't think he realised what a sore spot it has become for her, you know, with er..."

The king saw the issue at once. "Her missing husband? Never fear, Jamie, I shall pour oil on these troubled waters. Wait-" He approached Margaery who sat at the front of the barge, her hands tucked dutifully in her lap. Her shoulders looked rigid with tension.

"Dearest Lady Margaery, there seems to be a problem, can I help? Confide in me, please?" he gave her such a charming smile that despite herself she started to smile back.

"There, that better. A lovely lady like you shouldn't frown. Come, let us speak in private, m'dear." he said drawing her away from the rest of the group and talking with her.

Sansa and Jeyne were engaged in conversation with the Duke of York, but she kept trying to find out what was going on with Margaery and the king. They seemed to to be talking for a long time, and only short snippets of their conversation floated over to her. Was he managing to smooth the situation over?

"Hmm, well I see now there has been somewhat of a misunderstanding here." Sansa heard the king's deep smooth voice say. "Rupert can be a bit brusque, but he wouldn't have meant it at all maliciously. He doesn't really follow gossip."

As Sansa glanced over, Margaery bent her head, looking more than a little mortified. "I feel like such a fool. I realised that I over-reacted as soon as I spoke, but-" she sighed. "- and then I was so rude. He'll never forgive me for that!"

"You are sensitive about the subject. I understand that. I imagine people at court have been giving you a hard time?" Sansa noticed the sympathy in Charles's voice.

"Well, I had a run-in with Lord Buckingham at Chatelin's, that didn't help." Margaery told him. "He was rather unpleasant about it."

"I can imagine that it didn't. George is a troublemaker, you must not let him get to you, otherwise he wins." he said, turning to summon Rupert with a gesture. "Fret not, m'dear, I will make everything right."

The prince came over with a look of caution on his face, as if he was expecting Margaery to start arguing with him.

"Lady Margaery, I want you to know that I am sorry for causing you offence. I never meant-" he said, sinking to one knee and taking her hand ardently. "Please forgive my tactlessness."

"There is nothing to forgive, your Highness." she looked at him, giving him her most charming smile and extending her hand to him. "Please my lord, sit with me."

His smile of pleasure made him look years younger. Sansa saw how dashingly handsome he must have been in his youth. Why, he must have been near enough irresistible! Margaery certainly looked as if she were falling under his spell. They sat together at the front of the barge talking urgently in low voices, heads close together. As time passed, she nestled into his side as if she belonged there. Sansa noticed his arm casually round her shoulder, keeping her close as if they were alone and had completely forgotten about the other people on the barge.

Charles looked at his cousin and Margaery with satisfaction. "I believe my work here is done. More wine, anyone?" Charles said as he joined the Duke of York and his party, topping up Jeyne and Sansa's glasses, and helping himself to some roast fowl.

"Are you matchmaking again, Charlie?" asked the Duke of York with an amused grin. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely at everyone's expense.

Charles tried to give his brother a look that aimed for innocent as a choirboy and missed by some way. "Matchmaking? Me? Would I ever do such a thing?" The effect he was aiming for was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he caught Sansa's eye and winked at her, trying not to laugh.

Sansa wanted to ask him exactly what the king meant, but she glanced through the drapes and noticed they were getting close to Kew and their stop. Their pleasant idyllic interlude had to come to an end now.

"Your Majesty, we're just coming up to Kew, and our landing stage. Thank you very much for the lift and the refreshments. 'Twas most kind of you." Sansa said politely. "I hope you all have a lovely afternoon."

"Thank you m'dear. I hope I may take you and your delightful friends out again?" he said looking eagerly at her.

Sansa blushed prettily. How heady it was to be flirted with by a king! "That would be an honour, Sire. Thank you!"

Let me help you off the barge again, Lady Stark." he said. "Hold tight."

* * *

Sansa watched her friend who was smiling softly to herself as the barge pulled away again, leaving them on the landing stage. Jeyne had already arranged for a messenger boy to run to the Arryn's to collect their bags and pick them up. She was still in a tizzy about her reaction to the king as he helped her out of the barge once more. His whisper in her ear as he held her close, soft as as caress: 'Do you feel it? When we touch?'. The unmistakable reaction of his body to hers. She trembled a little to think of how foolish she might easily become if she didn't take care, how she might forget every lesson she had learnt from Septa Mordane.

_This man is dangerous, I know this. And yet...and yet..._

"I thought you didn't like the prince?" Sansa remarked, curious about her friend's change of heart.

Margaery turned to her in surprise, still smiling dreamily. Sansa wondered what the prince had said to her to make her change her mind so sharply. She had not been mistaken by the look of offence on her friend's face, how vexed she got at people referring to her scandalous divorce from Renly. Had she forgiven the Prince for his blunt statement so readily? If she was not mistaken, her friend seemed to be rather attracted to him, despite her earlier disagreement.

"Whatever made you think that, sweet-pea?" Margaery said lightly, before changing the subject. "Oh look, the coach is here!"

* * *

Sansa was star-struck by the presence of the king and just how friendly he had been to her and Margaery that day when he and Prince Rupert had given them a lift to the Arryn's on the barge.

Willas had mentioned just how down to earth he was to his public and he certainly was to her, going out of his way to make her feel at ease. The feel of his large capable hands round her waist as he lifted her into the barge, the moment she had been held against his body, just a fleeting illicitly stolen moment sent a thrill through her she didn't really understand.

_How is it possible to be attracted to one man, and yet within a day or two of meeting him, find another man so thrilling, so tempting he is leading me to think thoughts I have never thought before? What is happening to me?_

* * *

Hampton Court Palace

She really was the most impossible woman in the world! Charles wondered why he let her lead him so firmly by the nose in all things.

"I thought that you loved me." Barbara pouted, pushing her full lush lower lip out. "But how can you if you do not even trust me? How can you think I would dally with your son?"

She would have been slightly more convincing had she been slightly less histrionic about her innocence. That, and the six inch thick file presented to him by Lord Varys and his spies about her exploits with the Duke of Monmouth. For Christ's sake! He was scarcely more than a boy. Did nothing trouble her about the entire situation? Strike her as distasteful to be tupping the father and son at the same time?

"I have never required fidelity from you Madame, and it would be unfair to start now. But I do require a modicum of truth. The question is: are you capable of it?"

"What are you trying to say?" Barbara wept prettily into her lace trimmed handkerchief, sneaking little glances at him when she thought she was unobserved. He nearly laughed, but managed to control himself. She was so absolutely without shame and to be honest that was part of her appeal. At heart, she was just as much a rogue as he was. No wonder he had kept her as his mistress for so long, despite her sins against him.

"Did you sleep with my son?" he said with more than a hint of impatience.

Her striking eyes opened wide in an effort to convince him of the truth as she saw it. "No, of course not! These are just slanders to denigrate you and I just because we are together, don't you see?"

Short of coming out and calling her a liar, there was nothing he could do about it for now. Still, he decided to keep an eye on the situation. Just in case.

* * *

"Come in." she called at the quiet knock on the door. It was late at night and since Charles was off dallying with yet another of his wife's willing ladies-in-waiting, Barbara felt no compunction about making her own arrangements.

He stood before her, eager as ever almost quivering in anticipation.

"Why Jamie, my sweet 'tis rather late for a visit, isn't it?" she teased, leaning forward so the poor lad could get a good look at her assets. And sure enough he was practically drooling at the mere sight of her breasts. "Why have you come so late? A young man like you must have so many places you would rather be of a fine evening like this?"

"You know I long for you." He whispered in a broken voice, not trying to hide the torment there. "Please, my Lady Castlemaine, cease to be so cruel. I need... I need-"

He stumbled over his words, struggling with the effort of articulating his desires.

"What do you need?" she asked in a honeyed poisonous tone, in the mood to be cruel to him all of a sudden.

He met her challenging gaze,"You. I need you, Barbara."

"You shouldn't come here anymore." She said carelessly, playing with her scented chestnut curls. "Your father suspects something is going on between us. It's too dangerous. I have to think of my position."

"He doesn't care, I promise you. He's too much of a cynic to be bothered what we do while we're alone." He said with unconcealed impatience, shrugging off his fine green velvet coat beautifully trimmed with gold braid, tailored and fitted to show off his figure, the breadth of his shoulders, his athletic build. It must have cost a pretty penny, but he discarded the garment onto her floor as if it was nothing more than an afterthought.

She knew for a fact that this was not the case by Charles's interrogation earlier that day, but she could never resist being desired by any man, to have the boy quivering with lust and desperation. So damn eager for her to bestow her favours upon him he was willing to beg. _Ah, it had been a long time since Charles had wanted her so much. Had he ever wanted her that much at all?_

She reached a pale lily soft hand toward the straining front of his breeches, a wicked smile on her face. "Now what's this you have for me, Jamie?" she purred, tightening her grip on him and delving into his breeches.

By the pained intake of breath, she knew that she had triumphed and she had him.

"Ah, you would torment a saint! Please? " he groaned as she took hold of his length and stroked it once, twice almost experimentally. "Don't stop-"

_Ah well, there was no use wasting a magnificent cockstand like that. Not when she hadn't had a good swive since the morning._

"I think you're ready enough for me now, aren't you, my ardent little lover?" she purred expertly pulling off her robe and letting it slither down to the ground, exposing her glorious nakedness. She knew she still had it, looked good by the strangled little gasp he gave, and the impulsive little jump his cock gave in her firm grip.

"Don't let me down, my little lover." she breathed, pulling him down on top of her.

James didn't need telling twice. He climbed on top and was impatiently rutting against her milky-pale thigh almost before she had finished speaking.

"Why so impatient, my love?" she teased. "Come, nice and steady. Remember what I taught you-"

She dug her sharp nails into his back to spur him onto new heights. _Oh Jemmy, at least if nothing else you are good at this, _she told herself, taking every one of his thrusts. Her greedy ripe mouth fused with his, urging him on.

"Ah, that's it! Good lad. Yes-" she gasped, between heated kisses.

She would never have told the boy, labouring away on top of her as if his life depended on it, but her mind wandered once more to Charles and what he would think if he ever found out about her fling with his son. _He was such a cynic he probably wouldn't turn a hair, _she told herself. She let herself imagine the scene, giving the spur to her libido and bringing that much closer to climax.

_The door opening to her chambers…Charles watching them both with a look part cynical and part aroused by the lascivious picture she and Jemmy made tangled up in the bed._

"Sire?" she would breathe, opening her eyes and looking him straight in the eye, a challenge and incitement in hers.

"Move over lad, I'll show you to make this vixen squeal."

The thought of their hands and mouths on her- Charles and Jemmy sheathed within her willing voluptuous body together- was enough to spur her to the most intense little 'petit mort' yet. The sheer delicious wrongness of the thought. Now there's a thought I must never tell either of them, she thought with a smug little smile. A thought just for me.

* * *

"Does it not bother you?" Jemmy said in a wondering, dreamy tone, after he'd rolled off her, and lay panting besides her.

She was distracted as she explored his firm lithely muscled flesh, her fine white hand curled round his yard, which was waking up again and starting to take a keen interest in proceedings once more. How she enjoyed sleeping with a young vigorous man in the prime of his life!

_Don't get her wrong, she thought with a smug satisfaction. Charles was still in remarkable shape for his age. His tall strong physique was honed by regular bouts of riding, tennis, sculling his boat along the Thames and early morning swimming, but sometimes just for a bit of variety she craved something a little different, and Jemmy fit the bill most marvellously._

"Doesn't what bother me, Jemmy?" she asked, looking up at him with a deceptive innocence.

The young man's face wore a delicious little frown. He withdrew from her clinging embrace a little, as if he were belatedly trying to detach himself from his sin. "You're sleeping with me and father. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Should it, my lord?" she stared at him, leaning up on one elbow to display her fine pale bosom to its best advantage. Those fabulously mesmerising violet eyes fixed on him in challenge. She felt no shame at all about swiving him whatsoever, and she'd be damned if he was going to turn all moral on her now, after having had the enjoyment!

"I can't help but think-"

She frowned, pouting delightfully. "You really shouldn't, Jemmy, 'tis not your strong point!"

"I know I wanted you, but 'tis sin! I cannot believe Father would wink at it if he knew?" he struggled to say, struck by some small grain of his conscience too late. Even as he spoke, he arched into her grip, a soft groan escaping his throat as she lingered just under the head of his cock.

Inwardly Barbara smirked at his weakness and hypocrisy, knowing full well that he mouthed platitudes of virtue he in no way believed._ What use is it sinning if you haven't the stones to commit yourself fully? Foolish beautiful boy, did you think I would let you go that easy? I haven't nearly finished with you yet!_

"You want me again?" she asked him in a low hypnotic voice.

He looked at her helplessly, powerless to resist the sheer force and dominance of her personality. Her insistent hand on his cods and stroking his prick made it difficult to stop, even to think.

"Jemmy darling?" she squeezed him, making him commit to his actions, even as he was starting to ponder his folly.

He sighed, a sound of defeat and desire that was sweet in her ears as music. "Aye, I want ye, my lady. Fool that I am…"

* * *

Barbara reclined on her daybed, eyeing Lord Rochester as he was admitted to her presence. She inclined her head towards him, as indolent and grand as the Sultana of Turkey herself.

"Cousin Johnny-" she purred, greeting him with all her feminine wiles. She dropped the shoulder of her rich Indian silk robe, negligently showing one pale alluring white shoulder and the curve of one round breast. "What a pleasant surprise!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, unmoved by her seductions. "What do you want?"

She blinked at his abrupt tone. "Is that any way to greet me?"

"You never wish to see me unless you want something. Am I not right? So what do you want?"

Barbara gazed at her cousin, obviously reassessing her tactics in the face of his intransigent stance. He did not like the scheming flash in her eyes one little bit.

"I was wondering whether you'd like to do a small favour, John dear. For the family, of course." She started in a wheedling tone, subtly shifting her tactics.

Rochester didn't like the sound of this very much. Barbara was up to her scheming and trying her damndedest to involve him again. It stunk like a midden, and she had a gleam in her eye that did not bode well for her target. God help the poor girl who'd got on the wrong side of her!

"Recently I've been feeling that my position is under threat from a new rival, Johnny-"

_Perhaps you should try being a bit more faithful to her royal lover then,_ thought Rochester sourly.

Barbara's amorous appetites were insatiable and it was an open secret that she bestowed her favours very liberally amongst the young bucks at court, not being constrained by such bourgeois sentiments as fidelity. There were rumours of her romps with Harry Jermyn of course, Charles Hart, John Churchill, Harry Killigrew, and even Jacob Hall the rope dancer. She was shameless and bold, she pleased herself and didn't care who knew it.

Charles must have had a good idea of what she was up to, but as yet he hadn't rebuked her, merely accepting any children produced as his and spending a fortune indulging her extravagant tastes. _Why the hell did he put up with her?_

Perhaps it was because she was one of the few women who could keep up with Charles's enormous sexual appetite and earthy sensuality. She enjoyed the act of love-making, the carnality just as much as he did. No sexual exploit or adventure, no lustful posture of Aretino was too much or too shocking for her. If she had been a member of his merry wits, her debaucheries would have put them to shame in a month.

"A new rival?"

Her eyes narrowed ruthlessly. "Sansa Stark of Winterfell. You must have seen how the king is so partial to her and her arrogant little brat of a sister."

He noted the venom with which she spoke of the Stark girls. _They must have really got under Barbara's skin. All that freshness and beauty, the unmistakable favour Charles lavished on both of them, their impeccable high-born background and impressive hereditary wealth._

"Are you really going to exert yourself to destroy a mere girl?" he kept his voice idle and light hoping that she would think that he couldn't care less about her. "Don't you think it's well…a little bit beneath you?"

"Beneath me?" she repeated, sounding more than a mite offended at her cousin and his unwillingness to get sucked into her intrigues.

"I'm not sure that I want to get involved." He said coolly, as if clarifying his position.

She turned an outraged stare on him. "Whyever not?"

"What makes you think Sansa Stark even wants the king's affections? Perhaps she has a sweetheart of her own, one nearer her age." He suggested.

Barbara laughed aloud at the mere notion that Sansa was not chasing the same goal as every other lady-in-waiting at court. "Johnny, Johnny you are so droll! Don't make me laugh, will ye? Charles is irresistible to women. Even when he was as poor as a church mouse and had a price on his head, women threw themselves at him. They can't help it of course, all that sexual magnetism and virility, combined with the fact that he adores women. Sansa Stark doesn't stand a chance if he really wants her. It's not a matter of if, but when."

He made a noise of scornful disgust, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't you see? I don't have a choice? I have to crush her, and better it be me than Cersei Baratheon, don't you think?" she pleaded with him for a moment she sounded so convincing he nearly believed her.

"Well, I'm afraid I won't get involved. Sorry. And I have better things to do than torment a pretty young child. A girl who probably doesn't even want his Majesty-"

She scowled, her sulky generous mouth pulled into a petulant line. "You disappoint me, Johnny!

He sketched her a satirical bow. "Glad to be of assistance, my lady!"

Her mouth pulled into a sulky line. "Perhaps George will help me where you will not."

He noticed the threat in her petulant tone. _If George got involved, the girl was doomed. He was as conniving as Barbara and twice as vicious, his florid good looks hiding a heart as black as tar. Vicious, cruel and obsessive he would use Sansa Stark and spit her out once he drained and ruined her. _He remembered the lengths George had gone to over his last obsession, Lady Evelyn Ravensbourne, how he'd gone out of his way to ruin her and turn her husband against her, simply because she had refused to give in to him.

"I have no doubt he would." He said tersely, rising to leave. "-for he has no morals and less sense. Leave the girl be, Barbara."

She glared at him as he took his leave, infuriated that he had eluded her ploys and refused to aid her.

_After all she'd done for him! It was too much! At least, if nothing else she could rely upon George. Dear wicked George, my partner in crime and evil genius._

_Aye, _she told herself with new determination, _I'll see him this very day._

* * *

"Ugh, I am so disappointed with Lord Rochester!" She said to her cousin George with a deliciously petulant frown. She dangled one lavishly beaded slipper from her foot, revealing the curve of her naked pale arch.

"Why?" He said idly, playing with a lock of her chestnut waves. Barbara required this unadulterated attention like a tyrannical spoilt kitten, she was quite unmanageable without it. Villiers couldn't help but wonder why she was so keen so see him and even more importantly why she was adamant that his sister Mary, Duchess of Richmond should have nothing to do with this intimate little chat.

"I asked him to do me a favour, one little thing to consolidate my position and he turned me down, made some excuse about not wanting to become involved. I really hope he isn't starting to become moral. 'Twould be such a bore!"

"You're up to some mischief again aren't you Barbara?" He observed with an amused chuckle. Really she was incorrigible. Always scheming and plotting against someone!

She gave a sly look from underneath her lashes. "All I asked him to do was to seduce Sansa Stark, take her down a peg or two and he refused to countenance it."

"Sansa Stark?-" he repeated, his interest piqued by the thought. _Damn me, is she offering what I think she is?_ He thought. "-you want someone to seduce her? I wonder if he's got her earmarked for one of his cronies like Buckhurst, or maybe he wants her himself?"

Her eyes lit up as she sensed a way to reel her cousin in. "Why are you interested in the job, Georgie?" she kept her voice deceptively light, although her eyes bored into his with an avaricious gleam.

The mere thought of it aroused him greatly, though he would never admit just how much he wanted the chit and put himself so much in Barbara's power.

That bewitching combination of maddening purity and beauty she possessed in abundance; the graceful sensuality of her movements as she passed at court. That gorgeous fiery hair and perfect pearly pale skin, her slender lovely figure. How had Barbara worked out his secret obsession with the northern heiress? His cousin had to be a witch, he swore it. Her instinct for this kind of thing was unfailing!

"I'll say. She is damned exquisite. The man who eventually tumbles her for the first time is going to be the luckiest man in Creation." He said eventually.

Barbara scowled at his extravagant praise of her younger rival. "She's not that pretty!" she snapped, piqued to annoyance by his frankly lustful tone.

"So what were you planning?"

Barbara's smile became positively wicked. "I was thinking a little ménage a trois action with you and say… Jemmy Monmouth. Do you think you could handle that?"

"He would go for that?" George said in surprise. _He would never had the lad down as a libertine- or yet so stupid to poach on his father's property! Perhaps Barbara is right; Monmouth won't take much to persuade him to fall in. Clever girl!_

She smirked, the corner of her mouth lengthening wickedly. "I'm confident that I have a certain hold over him, George. Don't worry, he'll fall in once I exert a bit of pressure."

_So she __**was**__ sleeping with James, Duke of Monmouth as well as his father_! He didn't know whether to deplore or admire her shamelessness in all frankness. No wonder she and Charles were always so well suited!

"That should put paid to her virginal reputation once and for all, and of course you'll get to have her before Charles does. It 'll be enough to make him spit!"

"He'd never forgive me." Buckingham had always relentlessly coveted everything that Charles had, ever since they were children in the royal nursery. His greed and envy were aroused by the thought of stealing something his lord and master wanted so passionately, from right under his nose. "He'd probably banish me like Renly, or throw me in the Tower-"

Her smile was ruthless now. "But Lady Sansa is the most beautiful girl at court and an heiress of great means, wouldn't it be worth it?"

"So we keep working on the girl?"

"Of course!" Barbara said confidently. "It won't work if Sansa doesn't believe we are her new clever, exciting, dazzling best friends, will it? I can trust you to do what is necessary?"

He pressed a kiss to her fair white hand, a mockery of gallantry and chivalry. Their eyes met, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "Of course, coz."

She smiled with satisfaction as she got up. "I knew I could rely on you, George, a man after my own heart. Just one thing…"

"What, my lady?" her raised his eyebrows,

Her gaze turned sly. "Let's not mention this to Mall, shall we? I think the less people involved in our scheme, the better. Let's just keep it between ourselves for the nonce."

"As you command, my lady."

* * *

George watched her go, a slash of a smile stretching across his face at the sterling opportunity Barbara had just tipped into his lap.

_She expects me to help her vanquish her rival for the king's love. _He had to love his cousin for her sheer entitlement and arrogance.

_It's never once occurred to her that I might have other plans for the girl and as soon as I have got Sansa Stark into the king's amorous orbit, Lady Castlemaine is finished. Couldn't have happened to a nicer woman!_


End file.
